


When It All Falls Down

by VampireInATrenchCoat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biphobia, Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Ghost Castiel, Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 80,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireInATrenchCoat/pseuds/VampireInATrenchCoat
Summary: Dean Winchester is unhappy. Nothing in his life has turned out quite right up until now. It all started way back in his childhood, when his parents got divorced, and from then on nothing he's ever done has gone according to plan. He didn't go to college. He still has the same job he's had since he was 14 at his pseudo-stepfather's garage. He's not even thirty yet and he's already divorced with a son he only sees on the weekends, and now his ex-wife is getting married again.Oh, and his apartment might be haunted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story has been on my mind for quite a while, and lately I have been working on it a lot. I just have way too many drafts for new stories that I turn to whenever I hit a wall with A Drop in the Ocean. Seriously, it's an entire folder, mostly of Destiel AUs. XD And I did promise myself that I wouldn't post any of those stories until they were finished, but I'm really excited about this one in particular, and since I have quite a bit written for this and the entire thing is pretty much planned out, I decided to just go ahead and post it.
> 
> Also, this does not mean, in any way, that A Drop in the Ocean is close to being finished. Like, at all. That fic is going to be _ridiculously_ long. XD
> 
> Please read the tags carefully. There's some important things in them that you should know before reading. They'll also be updated as the story goes on.
> 
> This story will revolve around Dean and Cas. Jessica/Sam is a side pairing, and Dean/Lisa is a bit of an important point in the story, but it is a past relationship. There will be more mentions of past relationships for both Dean and Cas, but those are not nearly as relevant.
> 
> This story is tagged as **Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings** for two reasons. One, I deliberately chose not to tag this as **Major Character Death** , and I have my reasons for that. ;) And two, I'm still not sure if I will end up having to add the **Graphic Depictions Of Violence** warning, but it is a possibility. None of the other warnings apply, though, so don't worry about that.
> 
> Obviously this story will have supernatural elements, but that's not limited to Cas being a ghost. There's actually more than that, but I will refrain from adding exactly what those are going to be in the tags right now in order not to give away any spoilers.
> 
> Also, yes, this _will_ have a happy ending. Not a bittersweet or a 'kind of happy but not really' ending. An actual _happy_ ending for Destiel. Okay? Okay. ;) ;) ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. 
> 
> The title of this story comes from the song _Ghosttown_ by Madonna, which I also do not own, just as I do not own any of the song lyrics featured in this story.

_“Maybe it was all too much, too much for a man to take._

_Everything’s bound to break, sooner or later, sooner or later.”_

***~*~*~*~***

The words were written in black on the paper, simple and short, as it was expected. They were mocking, teasing as they glared back up at him, utterly silent though still looking as if they were quietly laughing at just how fucking pathetic he was. That bothered him so much that Dean’s first instinct when he’d laid eyes on the fancy pastel invitation had been to want to rip the damn thing to pieces, maybe even burn it all afterwards just to make sure that it was gone for good, or simply throw it away right then and there just so he could be certain that he would never have to look at it ever again. But he knew following through with any of those ideas would be ridiculous and childish, so he’d refrained.

Just barely, though.

**_You are cordially invited to the wedding of_ **

**_Matthew Robert Wright_ **

**_&_ **

**_Lisa Margaret Braeden_ **

**_Please save the date! January 6 th, 2018._ **

At the bottom was all the information the guests would need, like the place, time and required attire for the event. It even said he could bring a plus one. Ha!

Dean had actually let out a bitter laugh at that.

He’d known this was coming, of course. He’d known it all along, ever since Lisa had first moved in with Matt over a year ago. Of course he’d known, had seen it coming from miles and miles away, but maybe for some reason there had been this tiny little voice in the back of his head that for the longest time had kept saying it wouldn’t work out in the end, just as it hadn’t worked out between Dean and Lisa. Even now, it was still there, the damn thing, pointing out that his and Lisa’s relationship had only fallen apart after they had been married for almost two years, so this wedding might not even mean anything.

Which was completely ridiculous; he was aware. He knew that what Lisa had with this Matt guy now wasn’t the same thing she’d had with Dean, because he and Lisa had gotten married completely on impulse, without thinking anything through at all. Honestly, they’d only done it because they had actually thought they’d _had_ to do it, and not because they’d truly wanted it. Lisa getting pregnant with Ben had been the sole catalyst to that. They had already been broken up when she’d told him about the baby. They had split up about a month prior to that reveal for several good reasons, the most important one being the fact that the relationship had at some point started to feel mechanical; like they were together just because neither of them had yet found the balls to break up with the other. Dean had actually been kind of glad to see it over at the time, as he had not been able to realize before then just how truly suffocating their relationship had become.

He had only proposed to Lisa because he hadn’t wanted his kid to grow up without a married mother and father like he had. He'd wanted his kid to have a family, a normal one; he still did, really. And that had been a recipe for disaster.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt to get divorced only two years later, because he’d done everything humanly possible to make that marriage work, and it had all gone to hell anyway. He hadn’t been a good husband and father, or at least not good enough to make Lisa happy, and now Matt was taking his place in Ben’s life and Dean hated it.

And the most ridiculous thing was that this wasn't even  _about_ Lisa. It would be easier if it was, really; it would make sense, at least. But that wasn't why Dean had been staring at those letters for half an hour now, like they just wouldn't sink in, resisting the urge to just crumple the damn thing into a ball with his hands and toss it in the trash. This wasn't about Lisa at all, and somehow that made it all even worse.

Fuck, he really was pathetic.

He opened a bottle of whiskey that night. Since it was Monday, he wouldn’t have Ben for a few days since Dean only had him on the weekends, and if he didn’t have a kid to look after right now, then he didn’t really care if he drank himself stupid and passed out on his couch. No one would be there to see it or give him shit about it, so what the hell, right? He was a grown-ass man and could do whatever he wanted.

***~*~*~*~***

He called in sick on Tuesday, though he had a feeling Bobby had been able to call his bullshit even over the phone, because that old fart just knew Dean all too well and could see right through him without any effort whatsoever, no matter how good of a lie Dean could come up with or how many times he rehearsed it. But he couldn’t just tell his pseudo-stepfather that he didn’t feel like working that day because he felt like his head was about to burst open at any second and his eyes might actually jump right out of his fucking skull because he had a damn hangover that wouldn’t go away, since he’d spent the previous night drowning in a bottle of Jack.

Yeah, because that would go _so_ well.

Fortunately Bobby had agreed to give him the day off—though not without letting out way more grunts of disapproval than Dean would have thought could possibly come out of a person in one conversation—so at least he wouldn’t have to spend the entire day constantly trying to conceal the actual pounding in his head from everyone else while he worked at the garage. That would just give away his late night activities way too easily, and he really did not need Charlie or Benny giving him crap about his ‘poor life choices’, because they might not work there anymore, but they had the habit of just showing up at his workplace to check on him sometimes if he didn't answer their texts and they thought there was something wrong. He’d had enough of that lecture from those two for a lifetime.

So of course, taking advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t have to go to work that day, Dean finished the bottle that night.

And okay, he knew he was being pathetic and that this wasn’t the right way to cope with things. Don’t look at him like that; he was aware. Getting drunk wouldn’t fix anything; it might actually only make everything even worse in the end. He had a lot of experience in that department, so he knew that all too well. But he felt like shit and nothing else could make him feel better, so alcohol it was.

And again, this really wasn’t about Lisa, which was the most ridiculous part.

He just didn’t get why his life had to be so fucked up. Nothing seemed to have ever gone right for him and he was getting tired of it. His parents had split up when he'd been just a kid, and then he’d had to take care of Sammy growing up because his mother would spend basically all of her time working and doing everything she could to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies because she didn’t want any help from John. And then he’d gotten a girlfriend pregnant at 21 and only found out about it after they’d already split up, so then he’d proceeded to get married to said girlfriend out of pure obligation, and then he was already divorced by the time he was 23. And now at 29 years old, he could barely make rent, worked a job at his pseudo-stepfather’s garage as a mechanic with nothing more than a GED on his shoulders, only saw his son on the weekends, and he still had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do with his life.

When he had been younger, he had believed everything was figured out for everyone; that there was this pre-shape to people’s lives, and all they had to do was follow it, do exactly as the plan said and he should be fine. It was naïve and didn’t make any sense, of course, but he’d been just a kid. He’d also used to look up to his Dad, and John had taught him how to fix cars at a very young age, so to him it had been clear that working on cars just had to be what he would be doing with his life. His father had owned a garage as well, and he’d always talk about how Dean was supposed to take over the family business when he grew up, about how one day the right girl would come along, and then everything would just fall into place; they would get married and have kids and that was just how life was.

And Dean had believed him.

A dry, bitter laugh escaped his lips at the thought, and he took another mouthful from his bottle.

It didn’t fucking work like that, but Dean couldn’t tell John that now. Well, he could, but he wasn’t going to. He hadn’t seen or even talked to his father in 7 years; the last time they'd crossed paths had been at Sammy’s high school graduation, and even then they had exchanged nothing more than brief, short words, the conversation that had taken place between them that day turning out nothing but polite and just plain awkward. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms, hadn’t been since the divorce, and Dean didn’t have any plans to change that any time soon.

And the thing was—Dean hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since the divorce with Lisa. The only actual serious girlfriend he’d had before her, Cassie, had stayed back in Lawrence when he’d moved away to South Dakota with his mother after his parents' separation. Then he’d had nothing but flings for years, during which he’d gotten a little adventurous and figured out that he was actually bisexual, but he hadn't taken anyone seriously except for maybe Pam, and even _that_ was a stretch, but they had been kind of together for almost three months.

Until finally he’d met Lisa at 19, but that also hadn't lasted, even if it had gotten a little serious for a while.

He’d had a sort of boyfriend for a few weeks after he’d broken up with Lisa for the first time, but things with Benny hadn’t gotten serious at all. They had lasted for only a couple of weeks, and he’d actually broken up with Benny because Lisa had told him about Ben, so it hadn’t been an ugly break up. They were still very good friends up until this day, and Dean was actually glad for it now. He was pretty sure he and Benny wouldn’t have worked out in the end, and he was glad that whatever tentative relationship they'd tried to have hadn’t lasted long enough for things to get weird when they broke up and for him to lose his friend.

And about a year after the divorce, Dean had slipped back into his prior pattern of meaningless one night stands, and even in the handful of times he'd thought that maybe he could actually try to make things work with someone, he would always just end up panicking and fleeing sooner rather than later. Nothing ever felt right, and he was starting to think that the problem was really him; that he was just broken and destined to be alone for the rest of his life. It certainly looked like it, anyway.

The irony of how he'd vowed not to let his son go through the same thing he had when his parents had gotten divorced, and how by trying to avoid it he'd ended up doing exactly that, still haunted him to this day. It really was a good thing that Ben hadn't even been two at the time, so he didn't remember anything from the actual separation process, but that did very little to soothe Dean's mind.

But the problem wasn’t simply his ridiculously sad love life.

Dean had started working very early in his life in order to help his mother pay the bills—during his sophomore year of high school, in fact, and as soon as he'd managed to get his GED about a year later, he’d been out of that place, as sad as that had made his Mom, because that way he would have more time to work and make sure his mother wasn't doing everything by herself, as well as that Sammy was properly clothed and fed. He also hadn’t gone off to college later on because he’d just not seen the point of it, although that was just what he normally said when people asked him about it. The truth was that he also hadn’t done it because after his parents’ divorce, with all the expenses that had come from it and the shortage in money without John’s income, Dean had known that Mary wouldn’t be able to afford putting both him and Sam through college, and Dean was terrified of ruining Sam’s dreams of becoming something big in life just because he was older and wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship.

From a very young age, Dean had already been able to tell that his genius little brother was going places, so he'd given up college to make sure that the kid could have an actual chance of following his dream. But in the end Sam had gotten into Stanford on a full scholarship, which had created quite an argument between the two of them about where all the college savings would go afterwards. Mary did not want any of it, and Sam had insisted that they should split the money between them all equally, while Dean had vehemently stated that he didn't want any of it and that if their Mom also didn't want it, then Sam should keep all of it because they had saved it for him in the first place anyway. And Dean had set his foot down on that one for over a year, until at some point Mary had gotten involved again and told him that he was being ridiculous, claiming that he and Sam were taking half of the money each and that it was her decision to make because she was their mother.

So yeah, Dean hadn't been left with much of a choice on the matter but to accept his half in the end. He wouldn't use the money, though; of course not. He'd opened a savings account for Ben as soon as he'd gotten it, and he'd vowed to never touch even a single penny of it, because his son always came first.

And even if in the end Sam hadn't used the money for his degree, he was able to put some of it down into a house as soon as he'd graduated, which he wouldn't have been able to do otherwise. So when Dean looked at Sam now, graduated and about to become a hotshot lawyer at the legal department of Sandover Inc. of all places, about to marry someone as awesome as Jess, ready to actually start a family with her and do everything he'd ever dreamed of in his life, with a house and even with enough money to spare to pay for half of their wedding, Dean knew without a doubt that he had made the right choice.

And meanwhile, Dean was still here—with no spouse or partner, divorced, living in a shitty rented apartment, with a job he had already grown tired of a while ago, and with no hope of changing any of it. He wasn't even living at this point; he was just existing, really.

A shaky breath escaped his lips at all the memories currently flooding his mind, at all the thoughts swirling around inside his head, which were doing nothing to improve his mood in any way. It occurred to him then that he might be having a midlife crisis at 29, and he laughed bitterly at that thought. But he had been through a lot in his almost 30 years on this Earth, so he was pretty sure he was entitled. At that thought, he took another large swig of his whiskey. Maybe he should ask Bobby for the whole week off.

Yeah. Right.

***~*~*~*~***

It was Thursday night when someone knocked on his door.

At first Dean wasn’t going to answer it, deciding to just pretend he wasn’t home so that the person standing out there in the hall would take the hint and go away, because then he wouldn’t have to deal with it. He didn’t want visitors right now, not when his apartment was a complete mess and he looked even worse. He just wasn't functioning very well at the moment. Now, he _was_ showering and feeding himself properly and everything, mind you, but he wasn’t cleaning very well after himself—there were countless beer bottles, as well as a pretty good number of pizza and takeout boxes littering every single inch of the coffee table and couch because he just couldn’t be bothered to throw them away. His beard was also a little ridiculous by now, but he had yet to find the will to shave it.

The knocking was insistent, however, and when it became clear that whoever was outside wouldn’t give up so easily, he forced himself up to his feet, lifting his aching body from the couch with a tired grunt. He looked through the peephole, and was surprised with whom he saw standing on the other side.

Confused, he opened the door.

“Mom?” he asked, frowning, “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t visit my son and bring him something to cheer him up?” She held up all the packages she was holding as she said it, and he immediately recognized the familiar logo on the side of one of the bags as the one from the place where Mary had usually bought him pie when he'd been younger.

“Uh…” He nodded lightly, stepping aside to allow her inside, although he was still confused. It wasn’t like her to just show up like this. “Yeah, sure.”

Mary walked inside without another word, only stopping when she was already in the living room, and it was only then that she finally seemed to let her eyes scan the room around her. She frowned at the sight that greeted her there, wrinkling her nose a little, brows furrowing together, and the disapproval at what she was seeing couldn’t possibly be clearer in her expression. Dean shifted uncomfortably by the door, but said nothing. It wasn’t like trying to explain this or defend himself in any way would make anything better, so he just found it better to keep quiet instead.

Mary didn’t comment on the mess in the end, even if Dean could almost see the words hanging from the tip of her tongue. Instead, she just took the food to the kitchen, and Dean followed her without a word, head hanging a little lower as he walked, expecting some sort of acknowledgement to the state of his apartment or maybe even his own, anything at all, but nothing came as Mary placed the food on his sad little table and got them both some plates and cutlery from the cabinets.

For a brief moment, Dean wondered how his mother had known that he wasn’t eating anything decent, how she'd guessed that she should bring some actual food over (because clearly there was a lot more than just pie in those bags), but he chose not to question her right now, fearful that a comment of that sort might end up being exactly the conversation starter she was probably waiting for. So instead, he let the silence linger as they ate dinner together, and in the few times they did speak, they simply engaged in a light, calm conversation about either Ben or Sam’s upcoming wedding while they dug into their spaghetti. The food was pretty good, and it was nice to eat something decent for once, so soon enough all of it was gone and Dean was serving himself and his mother a slice of pie each. It was his favorite, too—apple, and it was just as delicious as he remembered it, but he didn’t really get to savor it as he normally would. By that point, the air around them seemed to have shifted into something a bit uncomfortable, the silence that had fallen over them far too loaded, heavy with anticipation. There was just something about it that had Dean feeling even more uncomfortable than he would have if Mary had actually given him an earful about the mess, because he had no idea how to read this pause. The air felt way too heavy and tense around them and he hated it.

It was only when they were slowly working on their second servings that his mother chose to speak.

“So,” She started moving her food around her plate with her fork almost absentmindedly, and the look she gave Dean told him exactly what was coming next. Took her long enough, honestly. “Bobby called me.”

Oh, wasn’t that awesome. Dean mentally cursed Bobby, although he knew he shouldn’t have expected less from the old man. The guy was almost like the father John had stopped being after things had crumbled between him and Mary, having all but taken both Dean and Sam under his wing at a very young age, even giving the older boy a job at the garage at the age of 14 and teaching him anything that John hadn’t covered about fixing cars.

And that meant that Bobby and Mary had built a weird sort of friendship over the years, which included the two of them pairing up whenever something happened with Dean and Sam, like right now. Of course Bobby would freaking tell on him because he’d taken a day off without a good reason, then gone to work the rest of the week looking like he might just fall to the floor at any second and die right there because of a migraine that just wouldn't go away. He really shouldn't be surprised.

“I’m just not feeling well,” he said, even though he knew Mary would immediately know that wasn’t quite the truth.

The look his mother gave him said it all, one eyebrow raised as she silently called bullshit on what he'd just said.

Dean let out a breath at the sight he’d seen way too many times in his life, and for only a moment he considered insisting that there wasn’t anything wrong, that he was fine, just feeling a little bit sick, but he decided against it quickly enough. He was just so freaking tired; he didn’t think he had the strength to even try to keep that façade up for long, especially not with his mother, who apart from Sam could read him better than anyone else on the freaking planet. There was just no point in lying to her, so much that it was foolish for him to even consider it at all.

“Lisa and Matt are getting married,” he finally let out, feeling a heavy, tired sigh escape his lips as his entire body sagged back against the chair, “I got the invitation this Monday.”

Understanding flooded Mary’s face, and she nodded slowly, almost numbly. She seemed to think that answer through for a beat, consider it from several different angles as she mulled it over, and Dean just waited in silence, because he really wasn’t sure what Mary’s input would be on this. She had never really liked Lisa, and when they had gotten married his mother’s opinion had been more than clear. She’d said it to him countless times back then—that it wasn’t the right thing to do, to get married simply because Lisa was pregnant if he didn't actually want to do it, if he didn't truly love her, all but outright telling him that it was a terrible mistake that they would both end up regretting later on.

And she had been completely right.

But he wasn’t sure what she would think of this, and he didn’t want her to understand this the wrong way. He wasn’t sad because of Lisa; this wasn’t it. He had loved Lisa, and he still did, really, but not the right way. He was never truly in love with her.

“It’s not…” Dean swallowed, shaking his head, and Mary’s sharp eyes were suddenly back on his face. They grew softer a second later when she seemed to notice his struggle to speak, though that did very little to help him manage to find the right words. “This isn’t about Lisa. I mean, not like that. It’s just…” Resting his elbows onto the table before him and letting his face fall to his hands, Dean ran his palms over his skin, rubbing his eyes a little as he tried to somewhat clear up his head. It didn't quite work. “Everyone’s lives are all getting sorted out, you know? Lisa is getting married to some guy who’s going to end up being a dad to my son. Fuck, Sammy is four years younger and he’s already engaged _,_  and everyone knows he and Jess aren't going to get divorced in two years and that she's not pregnant _._ And I’m just here, in the same freaking place I was seven years ago, only now I’m divorced with a kid I only see on the weekends. And I mean, I've worked for Bobby for how long, 15 years? Fuck, that's half of my life. Charlie and Benny both started working there after me, but they've both quit a long time ago and now Benny has the restaurant and Charlie has her weird... book slash electronics store thing, and I'm just...”

The words died in his throat and he couldn’t find it in himself to try and force any more out.

The look on Mary’s face grew even heavier, almost like it pained her to hear this, and she let out a breath. “Honey, I know you’re frustrated, and trust me, I get where you’re coming from. You cared about Lisa, you wanted that marriage to work and you love Ben, but just because she’s getting married again it doesn’t mean that you’ll lose your spot in Ben’s life. You’ll always be his father, Matt won’t change that.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, so he closed it again.

“And that doesn’t mean the world is ending, either. Sam met Jess and fell in love really young, so much earlier than most people do. You're still so young, honey. And sure, some things haven’t really turned out as you wanted them to, no matter how hard you tried to make it all right, or to get your marriage to work, but you’ve still got your entire life ahead of you. You’ll figure it out. No one’s life needs to follow a recipe. Life is not easy, or fair, or the same for everyone.”

He knew that, of course he knew that, but then why did he feel so bitter about it? Why did all of this seem so unfair?

“Am I just being ridiculous?”

“No,” Mary shook her head, smiling softly at him, “You’re just upset.”

That didn’t make him feel any better, but somehow he knew that hadn’t been his mother’s intention in the first place.

"Regardless," She reached out, grasping one of his hands in hers, squeezing it lightly in what he assumed was supposed to be reassurance, "You're not a kid anymore, Dean, so I hope you realize this isn't the right away to deal with your problems. Lashing out like this won't fix anything."

Dean swallowed at the words, but ended up nodding in response. He did know, and somehow that made this whole thing even worse.

They finished their pie and just hung out for a bit after that, and Dean was happy to feel the air clearer around them now that they’d actually talked. Mary was still clearly bothered by the mess, but fortunately she didn’t give him a lecture of any sort about it, but honestly, her words from earlier were still weighing down heaviily on his shoulders, so maybe that wasn't necessary, and she must know that. They had been more than enough for one night.

Somehow they ended up watching a few movies and talking about mindless things for quite a while, and by the time Mary left hours later Dean was actually feeling human again, enough that finally he manned up and cleaned some of the fucking mess in his apartment, and briefly he wondered if that had been his mother’s plan all along. His neighbor from down the hall, the kind but very quiet lady (he didn’t even know her name, he realized) eyed him with furrowed eyebrows and a clearly disapproving look in her eyes as she watched him carry his five days worth of take out boxes, junk food leftovers and empty beer bottles to the trash disposing area, but he sent her a small, shy smile as he walked by her, feeling almost sheepish. It was almost like she could read his mind and know exactly what he’d been doing. He could actually feel the weight of her stare on his back as he unlocked his apartment door, so much that he actually fumbled a little with his keys before dropping them to the floor by his feet, which only made him look even more like a fool and curse himself inside his head.

She was just freaky. Like, really freaky. Fuck, what was her name? Margaret? Martha? No, that wasn't it.

Whatever.

His apartment wasn’t by any means clean after he was done, but it was better, so much that he could actually see the coffee table now, and, well, at least he was going to work without a hangover tomorrow, so that was progress.

***~*~*~*~***

“What is this thing?” Dean asked, frowning down at the object he was holding in his hand.

It was a medallion, he knew that. His brother had told him that a second ago as he’d pulled the gift out of the small brown box Sam had handed to him, but truly it looked like a medal; an old, worn, big bronze coin with some weird symbols engraved on one of the sides. A chain of the same material looped around the small hole near the top, making it into a necklace of some sort, though Dean had no idea who would wear this. It was way too big and really not jewellery material.

“A medallion,” Sam repeated, giving Dean a look that clearly said he’d already mentioned the name before.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got that, smartass,” he retorted, scoffing. “I mean, what are these weird... letter things on the side?”

"They're engravings, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes at him. "And that's actual writing, actually, it's just in Enochian.” Dean gave him an unimpressed look, lifting an eyebrow at his brother. Sam rolled his eyes again, shaking his head and letting out an annoyed huff. “That's the language of the angels. The guy at the store said this was something like a charm, and that the writing meant an angel's name. I looked it up, and I found out those symbols refer to the Angel of Thursday, the one who guards people who were born on a Thursday. His name is—”

“Okay, hold on,” Dean stopped Sam before he could get much further, his mind already latching on to the first couple of sentences that had left his brother’s mouth, “You’re giving me a... what even is this? A protection charm?” He didn’t mean for the words to come out the way they did, a little higher and disbelieving, and a little sharp too, but his filter wasn’t really working right then.

An almost guilty look took over Sam’s eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly. He let out a breath, clearly looking like he knew he would have to tread lightly on this one. Dean raised an expectant eyebrow at him, waiting.

“No, it’s not a protection talisman. It’s… supposed to bring, you know, good fortune to whoever has it, and good energy. Basically good luck.”

"I wasn't even born on a Thursday. I was born on a  _Sunday."_

"I know, Dean," Sam sighed, "That's not the point. This is just like... a good luck charm for the person who owns it."

Dean paused, weighing Sam’s words in his head. He knew his brother was a lot more into the whole supernatural stuff than Dean ever was, and honestly, any other time, he wouldn’t have been as put off as he was right now by receiving a gift like this one from him, because this certainly wasn't a first for them. Sam just had an habit of wandering around some weird stores, buying creepy stuff and giving it to people. Normally Dean would thank him, and then just go home and throw it in his closet or something. He’d done it before. Sam had actually given him a fucking rabbit’s foot once, for fuck’s sake.

But the problem here was that Dean knew exactly why Sam was giving him this right now. The whole good energy, fortunate and luck thing only made it clearer, and he couldn’t help but be a little annoyed.

“You talked to Mom, didn’t you?” It was the only thing that made sense. Their mother had visited him last week, so of course that had to be it. She was the only one who knew what was happening right now; the only one Dean had said anything to at all about Lisa’s engagement.

He should have known she would tell Sam. Bobby also probably knew if he really thought about it, and by proxy that also meant Ellen and Jo, maybe even Benny and Charlie. That would also explain why Bobby was cutting him way more slack than usual at work lately.

Damn it.

Sam’s expression was answer enough; the way his brother looked down at the table before them without an immediate reply, considering his words, jaw clenching as it normally did whenever he thought too hard about something, clearly hesitant to answer. Dean scoffed once more, shaking his head and letting his eyes roam, scanning their surroundings for the first time in minutes. He was already starting to regret having agreed to come to the Roadhouse tonight instead of somewhere else. Either Jo or Ellen were just bound to notice something was off with them, and it was only a matter of time before Dean would be having to put up with one of them too, maybe even both.

“Dean, I…”

Dean waited a moment to look back at Sam. The puppy dog look he saw when he finally did had been expected, and yet it still made him pause.

“I’m worried about you. Mom is worried, Bobby is worried. Everyone is worried, really. We just…” Sam shook his head, and the way his entire body seemed to slump in on itself was the only thing that kept Dean quiet, waiting for Sam to continue even if all he wanted to do was interrupt; to repeat what he’d been saying to everyone for the past few years—that he was fine, that he didn’t need everyone to worry about him like this.

No one seemed to want to listen to him about it, though.

“You changed, after… after Lisa.”

Of course he had. Fuck, how could he not? Going through a failed marriage and then having to watch as his kid grew up in two different houses with two parents living two completely different lives was bound to change anyone. He didn’t get how everyone around him seemed to be so bothered by the fact that he was bitter about his own son potentially having someone else he would grow up to call dad. Was it really Dean’s fault that he wasn’t happy about this?

“I mean, it was bad when you got divorced, but you did get better eventually. And now…” Running a hand through his ridiculously long hair, Sam let out a breath, looking for the right words to say, Dean assumed. “Charlie told me you’ve been blowing her off for over a week, barely answering any texts and not picking up when she calls. Benny and Jo said the same thing. You’re avoiding _everyone._ And now Mom said—”

“Sam, I don’t care,” Dean cut him off, “Why can’t you all just freaking leave me be?”

“Because you’re shutting everyone out, Dean. Everyone. You did this six years ago, and now you’re at it again. You don’t go out, you don’t talk to anyone, you don’t want to see anyone. It’s a miracle I even got you out of that apartment tonight at all. This isn’t healthy, Dean!”

Closing his eyes, Dean lifted a hand to his face, rubbing it over his stubble, for a beat indulging in the habit he'd recently picked up for whenever he was nervous or bothered by something. He felt like he and Sam had had this exact same conversation about a hundred times over the past few years. And not only with Sam, too—his Mom, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Benny; everyone had had several rounds with him about this already. And that was precisely the reason why he generally avoided this subject with everyone he knew. He just couldn’t stand hearing the same thing over and over again anymore. He was just tired of it.

A quick glance around them told Dean that there were quite a few pairs of eyes on them, curious as they most likely wondered what the fuss over at their booth was about. Dean knew some of the people here, and that only made this worse, no matter if most quickly looked away and tried to pretend they weren’t paying attention anymore when they made eye contact. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to be back at home right now, sitting on his couch drinking beer and watching something on TV, maybe the cooking channel, or even indulging in his secret love for crappy soap operas. Or maybe a movie on Netflix. Actually, no, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he had some Game of Thrones to catch up on, because he hadn’t watched it in way too long, so he should probably fix that soon.

That was in fact his usual routine for weekdays, actually—just watching stuff until he was almost falling asleep on the couch. Sometimes he did.

Another breath escaped Sam’s lips, and he slumped back against his seat once more, like the fight had suddenly left him without a warning. “I’m sorry,” he let out, pinching the bridge of his nose and flinching a little as he did it. Dean wondered if he had a headache. “I just… I worry about you, Dean. I just wish I could do something to help.”

“But you can’t.” The words weren’t supposed to come out sharp or harsh, and they didn’t, not really, but Dean knew they'd hurt as soon as he saw the pained look in Sam’s eyes; the true kicked puppy combo his brother did so well that quickly bled into his features. It was hard to ignore it, but Dean didn’t let that stop him. He had to get his point across about this, no matter how hard that was to do. “You’re right. I’m not the same since Lisa and I split up, I’m aware. But…” Wetting his lips, he looked back down at the medallion he had at some point let fall onto the table, even though he couldn't remembering dropping it. The sight of it made something inside of him heavier, and he wasn’t sure how to read that.

He just didn’t want people to keep fussing over him, was that too much to ask? He was a grown-ass man, and he could take care of himself.

“I’m handling it, Sam. I really am.” And maybe his way of handling things, of dealing with his issues, wasn’t entirely ideal, but he needed people to understand that he had to do this on his own.

Sam didn’t look convinced. His eyes were pleading, shifting back to the simple sad puppy dog look for quite a while, but Dean held his gaze firmly, until at last his brother let out a resigned breath. The relenting nod that came after was strained, uncertain, and it looked almost painful, but Dean didn’t comment on it. He was just glad Sam had let it go; that they could finally drop this subject, at least for today.

Jo appeared out of nowhere with their orders then, and her presence seemed to muffle out the tension at their booth, at least temporarily. She joked and picked on them as usual as she laid down Dean’s bacon cheeseburger and Sam’s girly-ass salad before them on the table, but she didn’t linger too much; soon enough she was bouncing off, vanishing as she entered the kitchen through the door behind the bar. Dean was glad for that, because of course she could sense the sour mood around them, but for some reason she had chosen not to say or do anything about it, at least for now.

Dean could only hope it would stay that way.

He and Sam ate in silence after that, and Dean felt a little horrible about it, because he barely saw Sam anymore, even if the younger Winchester had finally moved back here once he and Jess were both done with Stanford. But between his brother’s fancy job and wedding planning, Sam didn’t really have time for his brother anymore, and technically this weird air between them was Dean's fault, so he was the one ruining the little time together they had tonight. He was the one in a perpetually sour mood these days; Sam was just worried, and Dean got that, as annoyed as he was about the fussing that followed.

So to try and fix the situation, at least to some degree, Dean picked up the medallion from the table, put it back in the little box and stuffed it into his jacket pocket before his brother would think he didn’t want it. Sam looked a little less unhapppy after he’d done it, and Dean felt a tiny bit better just by seeing it; just by watching some of the tension leave his brother’s shoulders.

Ellen did make her way over to their booth eventually, quickly pointing out that she never saw them anymore and sticking around to talk to them for a bit, though fortunately she didn't bring up any subject Dean wished to avoid. A patron waved her over soon, though, but she'd only left their table once they had both promised her that they'd stop by more often.

Conversation seemed to come easier to them after that, slowly but surely shifting back to its usual light banter and silly stories from Sam about his weird friends and Jess, their puppy Golden Retriever called Bones, or from his work at Sandover, and it was surprisingly easy for Dean to get lost in all of it again, pushing the heavy, loaded dark cloud hovering over their heads aside so they could go back to just being brothers eating out on a Thursday night, catching up because they didn’t see each other every day now.

And for the few hours that dinner lasted, Dean felt content.

***~*~*~*~***

The hallway was completely silent as Dean let himself inside his apartment, not one single soul wandering around out in the hall, no one either getting home or leaving it, and he was glad for that. The last thing he wanted to do right now was make small talk with the complete strangers that were his neighbors to him. He had lived in this building for years now, and yet he barely knew the faces of those who lived around him. He didn’t know why some people bothered with it, honestly. He liked his calm and solitude, and he didn’t know what was wrong with it. He smiled at everyone when he ran into people in the elevator or in the hallways, and honestly that was already more than enough to him.

He wondered if everyone thought he was antisocial. He didn’t really care.

Turning on the lights and locking the front door behind himself, Dean took off his jacket and threw it on the couch, stretching a little, lifting his arms over his head and feeling his back pop. He was tired, a lot more than he should be at this time on a Thursday night, but regardless he had work tomorrow morning and should probably go to sleep soon. However, a glance at the time on his phone told him it was just a little after ten, so maybe he could squeeze in some TV time before bed, just not to ruin the habit. His dinner with Sam had thrown his usual weekly schedule a little off balance, but he could manage. Maybe he should have asked Sam to have gone out tomorrow, when he didn’t have a curfew.

Pushing those thoughts aside as he could do nothing to change what had already happened, Dean was about to walk into the hallway when the lights flashed once, then twice, before going back to normal. He frowned up at them, waiting for a beat, but when it didn't happen again he just shrugged it off, and then proceeded to wander down the hall and into his room to grab some clean sleeping clothes, and then crossed the hallway into the bathroom to take a quick shower. He didn’t have a bathroom adjacent to his room, because his apartment was too small for that, but it didn’t really bother him. He lived alone, and he very rarely had anyone over, and when he did it was usually his family or friends, so it really was no issue.

Maybe he should have waited a little to shower, though, because just as it always happened whenever he was under that warm, comforting spray of water, his mind soon started to wander, and of course it went back to his conversations with Sam and his Mom, even though thinking about everything that was going wrong in his life once more was really the last thing he wanted to do tonight.

He hadn’t really been with anyone after Lisa; hadn’t had a serious relationship in years. He hadn’t even attempted a one night stand for almost a whole year after the divorce, and he still hadn’t really gotten to the point where those felt right. Usually whenever he ended up in bed with someone when he went out, he was always the one sneaking out as soon as the other person was asleep and regretting everything about it for the days that followed, even if momentarily it would feel good and would settle some of the sexual frustration that at some point had become a permanent feature in his life. He liked to think that meant he had matured, that he didn’t want casual sex anymore and that was all, but deep down he knew he was just fooling himself on that one.

Because it wasn’t about that. It was so much more than just sexual frustration that bothered him, and everyone knew it, but he liked to pretend that they didn’t.

Fuck, he was lonely. And unhappy. He was tired of his job; tired of doing the same fucking thing every day and not seeing a possible change in his routine anytime in his future. He hated that he wasn’t watching his son grow up every day like any father should. He hated that everyday he went to sleep and woke up alone in a cold, empty bed. He was even tired of this apartment, tiny and ugly thing that it was, but he couldn’t afford anything better.

And he knew what his friends would say to that; he could already hear it, clear as day. They would insist that he could start changing his life, that he was still young, that he could try and get a grip and that nothing would change if he just sat around waiting for it. That he could maybe go back to studying if it really was bothering him so much, as if he had the money _or_ the brains for that. Or that he could actually look for something more serious with someone, too, actually go on dates and try to make something work, but he _couldn’t_ do that. He didn’t need to pull anyone else into this shit; to actually burden anyone else with his problems.

He was fucking broken and that was the truth. He just had to accept it.

Fuck, he really was having a midlife crisis, wasn’t he?

He tried to push those thoughts aside as he walked out of the shower, as he usually did, shoving them to the back of his mind and locking them away, like they would somehow be trapped in his bathroom and not bother him anymore if he did it, only to come back later on when he hopped into the shower again the next day. It was a very foolish (and pointless) habit from his part, he knew that, because of course that didn't work, but the thought of it made him feel less uneasy so of course he would go along with it right now.

Ten minutes later he was already getting himself comfortable in a white t-shirt and a pair of underwear, parking himself on the couch to watch something, deciding that he should probably just watch something he'd already seen before in case he fell asleep and quickly settling on _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,_ because that particular one was really fucking awesome and he would fight anyone who disagreed. The book _was_ better, of course, all of them were, but he loved the movies regardless. Charlie was the only one who knew he’d read all the books, though, and he would like to keep it that way.

She didn’t know he’d read them all three times, though.

A few minutes later he started feeling cold. It was like the temperature had just dropped out of nowhere, and he started to hunch in on himself, not really feeling like moving at all, much less going to his room to grab himself a blanket. When it really started to bother him, small shivers running down his spine and all over his bare arms and legs, he fetched his jacket from the back of the couch, glad that he’d just tossed it there earlier, and then threw it over himself, trying to at least keep some of the warmth in his body, but that didn’t seem to be enough to stop the shivering.

Annoyed, eventually he stood up, walking over to the air conditioner and realizing it wasn't on as he'd assumed it would be. He frowned just as he realized his breath was coming out of his mouth in very visible warm puffs, dancing right in front of his face, as if it wasn’t fucking June. Just to check, he opened a window and was immediately hit with a wall of warm air from outside. He closed it a moment later, frowning in confusion at the glass, as if it would give him any answers if he did it for long enough.

Okay, that was freaking weird.

Deciding he didn't have enough presence of mind right now to deal with this, he just walked to his room to grab himself a blanket, and then curled up on the couch once more, but sometimes he could still feel a chill of cold air brushing against the skin of his neck and face, and it bothered the hell out of him, because it felt like an air current and there were no freaking windows open anywhere, so that didn’t make any freaking sense.

He endured the weird cold breeze until he actually got fed up with it, deciding with an annoyed huff that it was already late and he’d better go to bed anyway, considering he had to work in the morning and all. He’d have Ben to look after on the weekend, but next week he might be able to squeeze in a Harry Potter marathon in his work nights, because he really felt like doing that now. It had been a while since he’d watched all 8 movies in a roll.

Yeah, that sounded like a pretty freaking good plan if he'd ever heard one.

He took his jacket to his room and just as he was about to put it away in his closet he remembered the little box with the medallion was still in the inside pocket, so he took it out before hanging his jacket, and then shoved the medallion in his sock drawer, because honestly he had nowhere else to put it and he didn’t want it staring at him from the top of his dresser, so the drawer it was. It wasn’t like he was ever going to use the thing, anyway.

He slept with two blankets thrown over him that night, trying to protect himself from the damn cold draft that was still coming from fucking nowhere. He didn’t sleep well at all, though. He kept waking up every few hours throughout the entire night, and he just had this weird feeling in the back of his head, this uneasiness he couldn’t quite explain or shake off, like when you’re being watched or when there’s something wrong and you're somewhat aware of it even without actually knowing what it was, but he had no idea what that was about, so he'd ignored it, of course, because that was just stupid and didn’t make any sense.

He’d just have to call someone to check the air conditioner tomorrow.

***~*~*~*~***

“Can I have ice cream, daddy?”

Dean glanced over at the vender a few feet away. The line was pretty big, but then he looked back down at his son, at the big, pleading brown eyes that reminded him so much of Lisa’s, and of course he broke in a second. “Yeah, sure, buddy.”

Ben smiled that big, toothy smile of his and Dean felt his chest grow warmer at the sight. The boy sauntered happily alongside Dean all the way to the cart, holding his father’s much larger hand tightly with his tiny one. The sight of his son happy about something as simple as ice cream was already enough to make Dean smile, even if he hadn’t felt like doing it since he’d stopped by Lisa’s house last night to pick up his son and Matt had answered the door to tell him that Lisa was over at her mother’s house, which had also happened last week, so Dean was pretty sure Lisa was just avoiding him at this point. And that meant that Dean had had to watch Matt, freaking _Matt_ , get his son ready to spend the weekend at Dean’s house again, Matt acting all kind and fatherly with his son as if Ben was his kid. And that had made Dean’s blood boil. 

Fuck, he hated that guy.

The event had put Dean in a sour mood all night on Friday, just as it had last week, and it was already Saturday. Ben must have noticed something was wrong, because he was a smart kid like that, and he’d asked Dean to go to the park for the day to play a little, and of course his father had agreed because he just couldn’t say no to the kid. Well, he could, but it was awfully hard sometimes.

Ben got a lot more energetic than it would be advisable so early because of the ice cream, but fortunately it had toned down by the time they went to get lunch. Ben had wanted McDonald’s, but when Dean had asked him if he’d already had fast food that week and the boy had muttered a quiet yes in response, Dean had to set his foot down on that one and decided to take them to eat something a little healthier.

And okay, Dean did not have a healthy diet at all, and he might be on his way to a heart attack before he was forty, but this was his kid, so that meant he had to set an example.

Ben had pouted for a whole hour after that, but eventually he’d warmed up to his mac and cheese, and then everything was good. Dean even managed to get him to eat some steamed carrots, which really was a victory, because damn that kid was picky with his food.

“Are we going to see the dinos, daddy?”

Dean chewed for a beat before he spoke, frowning little at his son. Ben had spoken like Dean was supposed to know what he was talking about, so he took the pause as he swallowed to look for any prior mention of dinosaurs in his head, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “Dinos?” he asked finally.

“Momma said I could go with you to see the dinos.”

Well, Lisa hadn’t said anything about any dinosaurs. In fact, he and Lisa hadn’t spoken in two weeks, since the last time she had been there when Dean had picked Ben up for their weekend together, so he had no idea what Ben might be referring to.

He wanted to inquire about what Ben was talking about, but the pleading eyes of his son made any question he might want to voice right then die on his tongue. Ben might actually start crying if Dean even as much as let out that he had no idea what the boy was talking about, because apparently Ben had been promised something already and Dean really shouldn’t take that away from him, even if his mother hadn’t thought it relevant enough to warn Dean about it at all.

Still, he had to ask, “Where did you find out about the dinos, Ben?”

Ben faltered, and already Dean could see his eyes a little wetter than they should be because Dean hadn’t agreed right away. Damn it. “On the… They said it on the TV, daddy. They said we could go see the dinos this week, and there’s bones and toys and it looks so fun, daddy.” Oh, good, Ben was very close to crying now. His eyes were shining and the pout was back with full force, his voice wavering a little.

Damn it, Lisa.

Fortunately the explanation was enough for Dean to pick up on the fact that this was an event of some sort, and if there were bones involved, then maybe it was at the museum.

As that thought registered in his mind, he found himself nodding, even though he didn’t quite know what he was agreeing to. “Yeah, right,” He smiled softly at Ben, hoping the boy wouldn’t notice just how unsure he was about this, or that he was actually freaking out a little on the inside. He swallowed, wetting his lips and doing everything he could to keep his voice steady and soothing as he said, “Of course, bud. We’re going to see the dinos. We just gotta finish our food first, okay?”

The smile that broke out on Ben’s lips made warmth bloom in his chest once more, and Dean felt relieved that no more tears appeared in his son’s eyes.

A quick search on his phone told him that yes, there was a special exhibit at the museum this weekend about dinosaurs with a whole section dedicated to kids, which had a whole bunch of activities, so he quickly texted Sam about the change of plans from what they had decided earlier. Sam wanted to see his nephew and would be coming over to his apartment in the afternoon to spend some time with Ben, but now apparently they were going to the museum.

Sam had texted back asking if he and Jess could join in, so it seemed they were having a family trip to the museum this afternoon.

Ben had asked for dessert once he was done with his food, but Dean had denied him saying that he’d already had the ice cream earlier. The boy had pouted again, but had quieted at the promise of a gift from the dinosaur thing, as the website Dean had checked had promised special products at the museum's gift shop, so Ben had done a complete 180 at that and from then on he just wouldn’t stop talking about the dinosaur toy he would be getting.

It was adorable.

They waited for Sam and Jess by the entrance of the museum, with Ben bouncing on his little feet and barely staying still for a full minute, but fortunately they didn’t have to stay there for too long. After just about twenty minutes Ben suddenly took off running, a shout of, “Uncle Saaaam!” flying from his lips.

Dean smiled at the scene of his brother picking Ben up and lifting him up in the air, with Ben laughing excitedly as the moose deposited him on his shoulders.

“I can see the whole world!” Ben exclaimed, lifting his tiny little arms up in the air.

“Well, of course you can, Ben, your uncle is an actual tower!” Dean joked as he stepped over to the group, giving Sam a pat on the shoulder and Jess a kiss on the cheek.

“And a hairy one, too,” Jess replied, laughing along, and Sam glared at her, but there was a light smile playing on his lips.

“Speaking of which,” Dean grabbed a few of the ridiculously long strands hanging from his brother's head, pulling at them a little, and Sam was quick to bat his hands away, “When you gonna cut this thing, man? Seriously, this is getting ridiculous.”

Dean read the glare Sam directed at him the way it was meant to—the bird, Dean imagined, but they were in a public place and Ben was there, so that was all Sam could do right then.

Dean just smirked at him in response.

As they walked inside the building, Ben grabbed onto Sam’s long hair, taking handfuls of it into his little fists and using them as some sort of steering device, so at least there was some use to that ridiculous mane. Dean commented about it to Jess as the two were a couple of steps behind Sam and Ben, and she laughed lowly at it.

“You still haven’t managed to cut it in his sleep, I see,” Dean pointed out.

Jess shook her head, smirking a little. “No, but I did braid his entire hair with purple ribbons and tiny little pink bows at the tips last week while he was sleeping. I took a few pictures before he woke up, too.”

Dean let out a loud laugh, and Sam actually turned to look back at them at the sound, frowning and giving his brother a quizzical look. Dean just shook his head at him, and Sam let his eyes flit back and forth between the two suspiciously before he finally brushed it off, but by then Dean was still imagining Sam with braids all over his hair, plus the ribbons and bows, so he still laughed for about a whole minute, though he kept the sound more contained this time.

“I’m gonna need those pictures,” he said when finally he managed to speak again.

Jess just gave him a conspiring wink.

Did he mention he had the best sister-in-law-to-be ever?

The afternoon was pretty hectic, with the three adults following Ben around to wherever he ran off to, taking him to all the bones and replicas he wanted to see. The calmest time they had was when they went to the digging site, where the kids could dig up fake bones and pretend to be paleontologists for a little while, and the museum staff would talk to them and tell them facts about the dinosaurs they found while they worked. It was adorable to see the wonder in his son’s eyes as he paid attention to everything, hanging on to every word that was said to him like each one held its own little treasure.

Dean still had no idea how his son had turned out so smart, but he was so proud of him he could barely contain the smile that settled permanently on his face as later on Ben would recite everything he had heard perfectly, as if he was reading it all from a textbook when in fact he was actually simply remembering it all.

At last came the time when they stopped at the gift shop on the way out, and of course Ben hadn’t forgotten he’d been promised a gift, so they spent about an hour walking around the store constantly telling Ben that he couldn’t have everything in there until at last they settled on a stuffed stegosaurus that Ben didn’t seem willing to let go of. He called him Mr. Spikes.

Since they had driven there separately, Sam and Jess bid Dean and Ben goodbye at the parking lot, and then Dean proceeded to herd Ben (and Mr. Spikes, of course) over to the Impala so they could drive home. They had already eaten out for lunch, so they should probably eat at home for dinner.

So that was what they did. Dean ordered pizza and watched cartoons with Ben until the boy’s bedtime, and then he got Ben ready for bed, before tucking him in with Mr. Spikes hugged tightly against his chest and a kiss to the forehead.

He wanted to wander back out into the living room to watch some TV by himself after that, but he knew he shouldn’t do that, not when he had to get up early tomorrow to spend some more time with Ben before he had to drop him off at Lisa’s. Normally he would take Ben to school on Monday mornings, just as he'd done last week, but he'd offered to open the garage for the next few days because he felt bad about having blown off work and been pretty much useless for over an entire week, so it was the least he could do as an apology to Bobby, and that way he would have to drop Ben off at school too early.

Dean had to admit it—it was weird that he had enjoyed going out so much today. That normally didn’t happen with him. At least he had Ben to drag him out of the apartment once in a while, because he knew he didn’t do it quite enough. He didn't do it at all, really.

It had been good not to get a sermon from Sam again, too, especially after their little argument last week at the Roadhouse, but then again, it wasn’t like his brother would want to bring something like that up with Ben right there.

With a sigh, Dean decided he'd better just turn in for the night, so he walked over to the bathroom to wash up for bed, taking a quick shower and then brushing his teeth. Just as he was rinsing his mouth the lights in the bathroom flashed, luminosity wavering a few times until suddenly it stopped as if nothing had happened, and Dean frowned, looking up at the bulb a few feet over his head, expecting it to just stop working because maybe it was time for him to change it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it.

It didn’t happen again, so he just shrugged it off. The lights in the living room had done that yesterday, so maybe the apartment was having some sort of wiring issue, or maybe it was the entire building. He should ask someone about it, one of his neighbors, and if it was only his apartment, maybe he should get that checked, because he really didn’t want to die in a house fire. The air conditioner was still acting up and he hadn’t yet called someone to check it, but maybe it was an electric problem, so he was kind of glad he hadn’t done that right away only to find out there was nothing wrong with the thing and that the cause of the problem was actually something else. It wasn’t like he had money to spare like that.

If this continued, he’d call someone; he made a mental note to himself about it as he got into bed. But right now, he should probably get some sleep.

***~*~*~*~***

Sunday morning with Ben was considerably more eventless than the previous day. It was fairly easy to distract the boy with cartoons and a few video games for the rest of their time together, and too soon it was time to leave to drop him off back at Lisa’s.

And when they got there, Lisa was the one who answered the door.

“Mommy, look at Mr. Spikes!” Ben raised his little toy dinosaur for Lisa to see as soon as the door was open, leaving no room for greetings, and the woman smiled down sweetly at him, bending her body forward so she could look at the toy more closely.

“It’s lovely, Ben,” She petted his head a little, fluffing his hair, and he laughed, “Did you have fun with your dad?”

“Yeah! Like, a lot!”

Lisa smiled even more widely at him. “Well, that’s good. Why don’t you go inside to show Mr. Spikes around the house, huh?”

Ben nodded enthusiastically at the idea, but before going inside, he turned around to hug Dean, and maybe the man held on to him a little longer than he usually did, for some reason feeling the end of their weekend together a lot more sour than usual. He pressed a kiss to the top of boy’s head before finally releasing him, and seeing Ben disappear into the house behind Lisa made Dean’s heart weight in his chest, because he knew Matt was probably in there since his car was in the driveway and Dean hated it.

Lisa let out a breath once Ben was gone. She leaned a little to the side against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked a little uncomfortable as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, giving Dean a look that was very much close to sheepish. “He told you about the dinosaur thing, huh?”

Feeling awkward himself now that they were alone, Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, shrugging. “Yeah, I had to figure it out. A heads up would have been good, you know.” There was no actual bite in his voice, but he couldn’t find it in himself to make it out as a lighthearted comment either, as he would normally do. He was pretty sure he had the right to be annoyed about this, with how upset Ben had been about Dean not knowing what he’d been talking about. Dean just couldn’t stand to see his son sad like that, especially when it could have been so easily avoided.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I was meant to be here when you came to pick him up, but my mom called me last minute to help her with some stuff, and I forgot to warn Matt about it so he could tell you.”

The excuse didn’t make sense, of course, and Dean knew it wasn't quite the truth. And even if she had really gone over to her mother's house Friday night two weeks in a roll, she could have just texted him or called him about the dinosaur thing, but they just weren’t those people anymore. They had cut off contact completely after the divorce, and they only talked when Dean came here for Ben. It was weird and Dean hated that things were this awkward between them because they didn’t need to be, but this was their situation now and there wasn’t anything he could do to change it.

And the worst part was that there wasn’t a reason for this tension. They hadn’t worked out, Dean got that, but their break up hadn't been necessarily ugly. Deep down he'd known they had been doomed from the start, they both had, so it hadn't been a difficult separation. Maybe the problem was that he still didn’t get where he’d gone wrong, and why Matt and Lisa worked now. He hated how easily someone else had come along and taken his place in their lives.

“So, big day coming up, huh?” He wasn’t sure why he’d said it, and he wished to take the words back the moment they were out of his mouth, because where the hell did he want to get with that? Why did he have to bring _that_ up?

Lisa looked surprised, just as Dean felt with himself in that moment, but she covered it up quickly. Suddenly she looked even more awkward, and her smile felt off, like she wasn’t sure what her reaction to the words should be. Of course he’d caught her off guard with the comment; he’d caught _himself_ off guard, for fuck’s sake. What the hell was wrong with him?

She shrugged weakly, “Well, six months still, but… yeah.”

Dean nodded numbly in response, lost on what else to say.

The silence that took place next was ridiculously tense, and honestly it got to a point where Dean was considering just turning around and bolting for his car. It would be easier.

He was already weighing the pros and cons of that idea in his mind when Lisa let out a breath.

“Dean… I know this is hard for you.”

Oh, great, they were having _that_ talk now. They hadn't seen each other after Dean had gotten the wedding invitation, and this moment had only been avoided the two last times Dean had been here because Matt had been the one to hand Ben over to him, but apparently Dean wasn’t getting off so easy this time.

Damn it.

“It’s not…” Letting out a breath himself, Dean shook his head. How could he put this? “It’s not what you think it is, Lis.”

Lisa’s eyes were sad, almost pitying, and Dean hated the sight of it. “It would mean the world to me if you were there, Dean. And to Ben.”

He kind of doubted that, really. He was pretty sure Lisa had only invited him because of Ben, and not because she wished to have her ex-husband at her second wedding. She definitely didn't really want him there, he was certain of it.

Dean swallowed, deciding he really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do right now; all he knew was that he didn’t want to be here, so he just shook his head at Lisa, letting out a tired, worn sigh. He just wanted to go home.

So that was what he decided to do.

“Goodnight, Lis.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t give her the chance to try and get him to talk, or worse, for her to invite him inside to talk and have to see Matt in there playing with Ben and acting like a father to his kid or something. No, he needed to go home and sulk on his couch, so that was what he was going to do.

Turning around, he stalked over to his car, not glancing back at Lisa even once until he was already in the driver's seat, and he felt his heart heavy in his chest when he saw her still standing there on the porch, just watching him leave with an almost sad look on her face.

Fuck, he really needed a drink.

But he didn’t want to go to a bar, because that meant people around him and he wanted the opposite of that right now. He just wanted to be alone, so he decided on really just going home. He had a liquor cabinet in his kitchen and honestly, that was all he needed tonight.

He went straight for the whiskey when he got home, not even considering beer as an option. He wanted something strong, wanted to feel the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat, wanted to feel numb and just forget all about this freaking wedding.

Fuck, he just wanted not to _think._

He took a sip straight from the bottle, then another, then another. Letting himself fall onto the couch in the living room, Dean drank himself stupid.

The lights did that weird fading and coming back on thing a few times, and glared up at them.

“Damn fucking lights,” he muttered, and took another sip from his bottle.

He drank until everything was nothing but blurs of colors around him. He drank until he couldn’t think anymore.

He also didn’t really sleep that night. He just went into that weird limbo thing when you’re not quite awake but not quite asleep either, where he thought of Ben and Lisa and Sam and his Mom and Bobby even his Dad. He wished that his life was easier and that everything just didn’t go wrong for him all the fucking time.

And blue eyes. He also saw blue eyes, but he had no idea what that was about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics featured in this chapter come from the song _Ghosttown_ by Madonna. Again, I do not own them.
> 
> I love comments very much.<3 ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should have been up over a week ago, but I got sick with the flu and that kind of messed up everything. But it's here now! ;P
> 
> The song lyrics featured in this chapter come from the song _Simple Man_ by Lynyrd Skynyrd. I do not own them.

_“Take your time, don’t live too fast._

_Troubles will come, and they will pass.”_

***~*~*~*~***

“Well, someone clearly forgot to eat his cereal this morning!”

Garth’s voice reached Dean’s ears just as the Winchester stepped inside the garage, and he paused by the door at the familiar sound of the other man’s voice. He glanced over to the front desk, which was the Garth’s usual perch, and he really shouldn’t be surprised to find the guy man smiling at him, which also seemed to be Garth’s permanent expression. Seriously, the dude seemed to just always be in a good mood, no matter what day or time it was. He was just so happy and excited about every single thing, so much that it was actually kind of scary sometimes. And just as he’d done so many times before, Dean couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that dude managed to smile at seven thirty in the fucking morning on a fucking Tuesday. That shouldn’t even be allowed.

Oh, right, did Dean forget to mention that he was in a bad mood today?

“Hey, Garth,” Dean did his best to sound at least a little bit friendly, flashing the other man a smile that didn’t feel entirely honest because really, all he wanted to do right now was curl up onto the first available flat surface he came across and fall asleep.

Because he hadn’t done much of that last night; he had barely done it at all, in fact. He’d actually only gotten about three hours of sleep, because his damn neighbor had decided that she wanted to have obnoxiously loud sex with her fucking boyfriend (or whatever the hell that dude was, Dean could not possibly care less) until almost 3 in the fucking morning. Seriously, they went at it for almost 4 fucking hours, which had in the end left Dean wondering what the hell the dude was on, because yeah, that couldn’t be normal. It got so bad that Dean had ended up with a pillow over his head to try and block some of the sound, which didn’t work at all.

At some point he had actually considered yelling out, “No, _do not_ keep doing it right there, Tom, just fucking finish already because there’s people _trying to fucking sleep down here!”_ Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t actually done it. At least they might have stopped and he wouldn’t feel like crap right now.

If that had taken place the previous night, though, things would have gotten ugly, but it was just their luck that they hadn’t picked a night Ben was over at his apartment to fuck like bunnies. This had never happened before, either, so Dean was inclined to think this was just a one night stand, and he really hoped it was, because if that woman ever decided to frisky with someone on a night when he had Ben over, then Dean wouldn’t have as much restraint as he’d had yesterday.

“Oh, now, why don’t we try to turn that ugly frown upside down, huh?” Garth smiled him, hopping off the chair he’d been sitting on and stepping toward Dean, “Do you need a hug?”

Dean shook his head as he let out a small, nervous laugh, lifting his arms in front of himself as some sort of shield as he watched Garth taking a few more steps toward him, “Yeah, no, thanks, Garth, but I’m... I'm fine. You don’t need to—Oh, okay. Alright. You’re already doing it.” Yeah, okay, he was hugging Dean now. Great. Dean let it happen for a moment, but after a beat he tried to subtly pull back a little, which only made Garth hold on to him even more tightly, even if Dean’s arms were actually pinned to his sides, limp and not doing anything at all to return the hug. “That’s, uh… yeah, that’s good. Thanks, Garth.”

Garth didn’t reply, and he didn't seem willing to let go of Dean for way too long, so all the Winchester could do was stand there hoping that the dude would just take the hint, that he would notice how stiff and utterly unresponsive Dean was, but of course that didn’t happen and the other man actually held on to him for close to a full minute.

And when finally Garth pulled away, he flashed Dean yet another impossibly wide smile for such an ungodly hour. “See? Better already, right?”

Dean couldn’t help it; he chuckled at the man—weakly, of course, and it did sound a lot more like a huff than he’d intended, but it was a chuckle, nonetheless. This was suddenly awkward as hell, but this was Garth, and Dean knew he was just trying to make him feel better, so the Winchester actually allowed an actual smile to slip into his lips, and this time it was actually a bit more genuine as he replied, “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Garth.”

Garth nodded at him, apparently satisfied with the answer. “Good. Now, go on along. I hear there are some cars back in there that need some attention.” He winked at Dean—not an actual flirty wink of any sort, but that dorky one he always did for reasons that were still very much unknown to Dean—and then turned around and walked back over to his spot behind the front desk without another word.

Garth was always like that, as hard as it was to believe it—always cheerful and trying to make everyone around him feel better, and while he might be a bit odd at times, Dean knew he meant well and had an extraordinarily big heart, and that was the reason why Dean tried to indulge him at least a little whenever he did stuff like this. Still, Dean took the chance he was given and walked off almost hurriedly, quickly stepping through the door behind the desk and into the back of the shop before Garth decided to hug him again or something, and he was glad to find that he’d been the first one of the mechanics to arrive today, so that meant there wouldn’t be anyone around to bother him for a while.

The rest of the morning went on a lot more quietly, fortunately, and for the hours that followed, Dean simply let himself get immersed in his job. He was sleepy and tired, but he vowed not to let that slow him down, so instead he spent most of his time hidden under the Honda Civic that had gotten towed in yesterday evening, letting his hand do all the work for him and doing his best to keep his mind from wandering. At least he seemed to grow more alert as he worked, so he didn’t have to worry about falling asleep and dropping a wrench on his face or something.

No one talked to him throughout the entire morning, which wasn’t anything new, even if he wasn’t alone in the shop for too long. He could hear the others working around him, a few exchanged words here and there, but he let himself get lost in his own little world and didn’t pay them any attention; didn’t even get out from under the car if it wasn’t to get a tool he needed or check something else, and he would always get back down there as soon as he could.

The next time anyone talked to him at all was actually hours later, during his lunch break.

“Well, you look very cheerful today.”

Dean looked up from his sandwich at the sound of the familiar voice, finding Krissy walking into the employees' room as she untied her hair, releasing it from the carefully made ponytail she usually left it arranged in during work hours so it wouldn’t bother her or get covered in oil. She was obviously getting ready to leave for the day, which followed the usual schedule—she was a college student, which meant she only worked part-time to cover the extra expenses that came with moving here from a few states over and living outside of campus in a rented, shared apartment, so of course she left earlier than everyone else, or started later, depending on the weekday.

The girl had started working here about two months ago, and already she had grown on Dean. She had quite an attitude and she was probably one of the most determined people he had ever met, which he really admired about her, and she was also extremely intelligent. Her dad had taught her a lot about cars while she’d been growing up, so she’d already known her way around an engine pretty well when Bobby had first hired her, and even if there was something she didn’t know, she picked up on everything they taught her with admiring speed, which kind of reminded Dean of both Sam and Charlie in a way, and that said something, because those two were probably the smartest people Dean knew.

She was also the only one Dean actually talked to at the garage apart from Bobby (and Garth, kind of, but that one was a bit debatable), which was kind of hilarious, and maybe a little ridiculous if you really think about it, considering that she was a good 10 years younger than him, but it was the truth anyway. The two other employees Dean had to share his workspace with at the moment were Cole and Gordon, and those two weren’t exactly friendly toward him; they didn’t even talk to him at all throughout the work days. Or ever.

And okay, it wasn’t like they had at some point argued or bickered or actually hated each other. It was simply that there was some sort of barrier between those two and Dean—one that the pair had actually put up around themselves months ago and that they did everything they possibly could to maintain, and Dean just didn’t think it was worth the effort to try and break it down. He didn’t even want to do it by now; he just accepted things as they were and didn’t let it get to him.

The truth was that Dean had never really gotten along with Gordon. The dude was always quiet and kept mostly to himself, almost like he was just constantly brooding. He’d given out that unfriendly vibe very early on, but Dean just found that working with someone for as long as they had to on a daily basis; that being stuck in the same room with a person for hours and hours every day without talking or at least getting to know each other a little was a bit too much even for him, so he’d tried to be friendly a few times in the beginning, and during the first few days after the guy had been hired, Dean had tried to start up a conversation with him every now and then.

As it turned out, though, they had absolutely nothing in common, so that plan had gone down the drain very quickly. Gordon had a pretty weird backstory that he clearly wasn’t happy to share, and he got all weird whenever Dean had brought up the subject of family with him. All that Dean had managed to figure out was that he wasn’t from here and that something might have happened to his sister, but Dean had quickly caught on that his family was apparently a really touchy topic and had given up on it soon after.

So Dean had done his best to steer the conversation away from the family front, trying to figure out some sort of safe topic, but every single one of his efforts had crashed and burned in the end. So yeah, in the end Dean had just come to accept the fact that conversation wouldn’t work out between the two, and by then he was fine with it.

And then about a month later Cole had come around, and that one had been a disaster.

In Dean’s defense, Cole had been very friendly with Dean at first, always coming over to talk to him and joking around, and he also got a little touchy a lot of times, with a lot more ‘friendly’ pats than Dean was used to, so much that the Winchester had read him a bit wrong, and in the end Dean might have hit on him a little. Actually, he didn’t even properly hit on him; he’d simply started flirting a little, testing out the waters to figure out if Cole was really meaning to give off the idea that Dean was receiving, trying to figure out if there was more to Cole’s insistent friendliness somehow.

And clearly that had been the wrong thing to do.

Cole was apparently one of those people who claimed that they had nothing against people ‘like him’ (his words, not Dean’s) as long as they didn’t come on to him, which to Dean just meant he was a real fucking asshole. Instead of having the polite, normal response of simply stating that he didn’t swing that way and move on, simply actually voicing to Dean that he wasn’t interested and that was it, that little exchange had led Cole to do a complete one-eighty when it came to Dean, which meant that he’d basically started to ignore Dean completely from then on.

Dean didn’t insist with him, of course, and after that Cole and Gordon seemed to have gotten along very well—figures, really—and Dean could only assume Cole had most likely shared the happening with Gordon, which might have made the whole situation between Dean and Gordon even more strained than it already was before. And that meant that Cole and Gordon had their own little world on one side of the shop, and Dean had his on the other one. It also meant different lunch breaks, but that was a little convenient, because that way there was always someone getting some work done even during breaks.

And don’t get him wrong, they weren’t rude or hostile to Dean in any way. If they were; if they actually acted like bigoted, homophobic assholes to him, then Bobby certainly wouldn’t keep them around, and Dean knew they were very much aware of that. There was just an invisible barrier between them. They were mostly just civil with each other, talking only when necessary and nothing more than a few polite words, not making one single effort to try and cross the line and go into a more friendly territory, and Dean was okay with that. Also, they did get their job done pretty well, so really, Dean got why Bobby kept them around.

So in the end Krissy was really the only one he actually talked to here apart from Bobby (and the eventual odd exchange with Garth). And normally he liked their talks, because usually Krissy just had a way of getting Dean’s mind off of his problems, usually engaging in tales about the hunting trips she’d go on with her father when she was younger or crazy stuff from college life (which was something Dean had never gotten to experience himself). He truly enjoyed talking to her, honestly, but today he knew way too well what subject this could potentially lead to, which was why he took a pause to respond. Krissy could get pretty nosy sometimes, he’d learned that fairly quickly, and he could very easily see this conversation heading in a direction that wouldn’t make him happy in the slightest, especially not so early on a freaking Tuesday.

The things was, he knew he’d been in a bit of a mood during the past few weeks, which had obviously started after he’d gotten the wedding invitation, and of course people had noticed that. And even if today his bad moon wasn’t actually about that for a change, of course that would still be the conclusion Krissy would draw, and this was really not a subject he wanted to get back into. He liked to think he’d at least grown past it to some degree, so really, he didn’t need to talk about it with a curious 19-year-old.

His phone vibrated on the spot where he’d left it on table, doing it twice before it grew quiet again, which meant he’d just gotten a message notification instead of a call, but he didn’t even glance down at it as he raised an eyebrow at the girl, “What, I’m not allowed to have bad days?”

“I’m pretty sure you mean bad month,” she quipped back as shrugged off her stained jumpsuit, which she quickly tossed inside her locker, leaving her in the old, worn clothes she had been wearing underneath her work ones—a pair of jeans torn at the knee and a shirt that had definitely seen better days, which all basically screamed, ‘I’m being worn right now because it really doesn’t matter if I get stained in grease and motor oil.’ There was a small smear of grease on her cheek, and Dean hoped she was going to stop at home and take a shower before her classes, but considering the state of her clothes, he assumed she probably would, so he didn’t comment on it.

Instead Dean simply snorted, choosing not to respond to her remark, shaking his head and taking another bite from his sandwich. It was delicious, filled with turkey breast and mustard, and he let himself enjoy his mouthful for a minute before looking back at the girl, who he then realized had an eyebrow raised at him.

“Wanna talk about the animal that crawled up _your_ ass and died?”

Dean rolled his eyes at her, swallowing his food before replying, “No.”

She snorted. “What, you’re suddenly allergic to conversation or something?”

“You know, that’s a lot of sass coming from someone so small.”

Krissy glared at him, shaking her head, huffing as she relented, “Fine, be like that.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder and closed her locker door loudly, and then turned around and walked over to the room door, throwing a, “See ya!” over her shoulder as she vanished from sight.

Dean counted that as a win.

He took another bite of his sandwich before finally looking down at his phone to check why it had vibrated earlier, finding a message from Benny staring up at him from the screen.

 **Wanna stop by to eat something tonight? -**   _ **Received today at 11:49AM** _

**Haven’t seen your face around here lately -**   _ **Received today at 11:49AM** _

Thinking only about the food, that really was a tempting offer. Benny’s place had the best Cajun food Dean had ever had in his life, and he used to be over there almost as much as he used to go to the Roadhouse a few years back, but lately he just hadn’t felt like it anymore. And that wasn’t about Benny or his wife or anything, really, it was just that normally those two were working nonstop while the place was open, and Dean would always just end up at a table in the corner by himself for most of the time he was there, and he didn’t really feel like doing that tonight.

And that wasn’t a complaint about Benny in any way. That was Benny’s workplace and Dean had no right to demand that his friend would stop everything he was doing to spend time with him; it was just an observation.

And yeah, okay, he could possibly invite someone to go with him, he knew that, but his options were kind of limited at the moment. Sam and Jess were buried in wedding preparations and work, as his brother had so vehemently reminded him every single time they’d spoken on the phone this week. Jo worked the night shift at the Roadhouse, so she would most likely not be available, and inviting either his Mom or Charlie would without a doubt lead up to a conversation he really didn’t want to have with either of them today, especially considering that Charlie was most likely mad at him right now, so things might get a little awkward.

And to top it all off, he was probably going to need to go sleep early tonight, so really, this wasn’t a good idea.

 **Sorry man not** **really feeling it tonight - _Sent today at 11:53AM_**

Benny replied within just a few minutes.

**Andrea made pie - _Received today at 11:57AM_**

**Pecan - _Received today at 11:58AM_**

Dean let out a sigh at the messages, shaking his head lightly as he typed out a reply.

**Tempting - _Sent today at 11:59AM_**

**But srsly cant make it tonight -** **_Sent today at 11:59AM_ **

**Sorry - _Sent today at 12:00PM_**

He didn’t get a reply after that, and he knew Benny might be hurt that Dean had been basically avoiding him lately, just as Charlie probably was, but really, today just wasn’t a good day, and he didn’t really want to get into it over text, so he tried to shrug it off for now. He would try to make it up to Benny and Charlie soon, he promised himself.

He finished his sandwich a few minutes later and wandered back into the main area of the garage, and as he stepped through the door he caught a few low chuckles and comments coming from Cole and Gordon in the corner, but the sound died down quickly once the two noticed Dean coming in. He gave them a look, and they both straightened up a little and continued working on their respective vehicles—Cole on a beat up motorcycle that didn’t want to start up and Gordon on a 2010 Toyota Corolla that needed an air filter change.

Dean had no idea what they had been talking about, and while he did feel a tiny twinge of curiosity in his chest about whether it was about him or not, he did what he did best and just ignored them, going back to the Honda he had been working on and that he had almost ready by now; he was actually pretty sure he might get it done today. Neither one of the other two even tried to talk to him like usual, and the rest of the day passed on just as it normally did.

And as it turned out, he did finish the Honda.

When he was getting ready to leave, though, Bobby walked right out of his office to talk to Dean, stepping quietly into the employees’ room just as Dean had finished taking off his jumpsuit and was shoving it into his locker. That wasn’t exactly unheard of—Bobby wandering over to talk to Dean after his shift—but instantly Dean knew he wouldn’t be particularly happy with whatever conversation his surrogate father might be wishing to start right then. Even before a single word was out of Bobby’s mouth, Dean already had a feeling he knew exactly what this was going to be about, because that was all people seemed capable of talking to him about by now, and that was getting very, very annoying. For weeks Bobby had been tiptoeing around him about this and apparently today he’d finally decided to stop beating around the bush.

Dean wasn’t disappointed.

“You know, Ellen and Jo have been missin' you lately. Said you haven’t showed that face of yours around there more than once a month.”

Dean glanced over at Bobby, finding that the older man was standing by the door, watching him with sharper eyes than anyone Dean had ever met. Bobby knew how to read him too well, and immediately Dean knew this conversation wasn’t at all about Ellen or Jo or the Roadhouse, of course it wasn’t. This was just how Bobby got you to talk about things—skirting around the subject until finally he got to where he wanted to get; until he got you talking about what he wanted to hear, and way too often it worked.

Dean still had to try to worm his way out of this one, though. He thought to mention how he’d been to the Roadhouse two weeks ago, but a moment later he realized that would only be proving Bobby’s point, so instead he tried, “Yeah, haven’t been feeling up to going out all that much lately.” He shrugged lightly at the end, closing his locker shut and putting on his jacket.

Bobby didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes said everything. It was the same one he’d given Dean several times over the years, so many that Dean had lost count of how many times he’d seen it by now, and he knew exactly what it meant.

Dean felt his entire body sagging a little at the sight, because already he knew trying to dodge out of this one wouldn’t work out. Bobby knew him too well, and he also wasn’t one to give up easily whenever he set his mind to do something, so even if Dean got away today, Bobby would try again soon and eventually he would get what he wanted.

At that thought Dean shook his head lightly, deciding he might as well get this out of the way. “It’s not what it looks like,” he breathed out.

Bobby lifted an inquiring eyebrow at him, “Isn’t it?”

“It’s really not,” he insisted, because again, it wasn’t. Honestly, he was getting tired of repeating this over and over again to everyone; to have to stress every single time someone brought this up that this wasn’t about Lisa. He wasn’t even sure why everyone was still hanging on to that thought at this point. It had been three weeks since he’d gotten that letter, and things had pretty much gone back to normal now, or at least he was pretty sure they had, anyway. Things were still a little awkward whenever Dean stopped by to either pick up Ben or drop him off and Lisa was there, but that was to expected, with the way he’d acted the night after the trip to the museum. Things hadn’t been good between them for a while, really, so it wasn’t any kind of surprise.

Well, things had partially gone back to normal, anyway. He liked to think the invitation had opened his eyes for a few things; put some things into perspective for him, if you will, but he wasn’t sure why that bothered people so much.

“Then what is it like?”

Dean shook his head again, “I’m fine, Bobby. Really. I’m just… I just need to figure some things out in my head, but it’s not… It’s really not what it looks like.”

Bobby just regarded him for a long time, silently considering him, as if trying to figure out if he should believe what he’d just been told simply by looking at Dean; as though he was weighing out the validity of the younger man’s words simply by repeating them a few times inside his head. He didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, if the look he gave Dean was anything to go by, but at last he let out a relenting sigh, shaking his head lightly.

“I just worry about you, boy. And so do your mother and your brother.”

Dean wasn’t even surprised to hear that both Mary and Sam had had a hand in this.

“There’s no reason to worry,” Dean said, walking up to Bobby slowly, pausing before him to give the older man a weak shrug, “I’m just… I don’t know, I’m just going through a weird time, but it’ll pass.”

Once more Bobby considered him for a pause, but this one was a lot shorter, and in the end he ended up nodding, a low grunt escaping his throat as he stepped aside to let Dean walk through the door and leave.

Dean took that as his cue and got out of there before Bobby could change his mind.

Once he got home, he started up his laptop and checked a few things online, browsing through Twitter for a little while as he ate dinner—and by dinner he meant some heated up leftovers from the food he'd ordered last night—as well as reading up on some news. He got tired of it pretty quickly, though, so as soon as he was done with his food, he started his usual routine of picking out something to watch, remembering the whole Harry Potter marathon idea he’d had a couple of weeks back. He’d actually forgotten about it, as he’d taken the chance to catch up on Game of Thrones instead, but since he was done with it now and the new season was only going to come out in a few weeks, now he could finally let himself get lost in some Harry Potter, so he decided he should do just that. It was still early, barely even seven, but he was pretty sure he would only get through one movie before his body would decide it was time to sleep, and he was okay with that.

He took a shower first, of course, changing into more comfortable clothes, and once he wandered back into the living room he decided to make some popcorn, so he headed for the kitchen next instead of the couch. While he waited for the popcorn to be ready, he drank some water, and then placed the used glass on the kitchen counter just as the microwave beeped so he could use both hands to get the package out.

He dumped his popcorn into a bowl and picked it up with one hand, then grabbed himself two beers from the fridge with the other, and just then he realized he’d left the glass on the kitchen counter instead of putting it in the sink, but since his hands were a little full right now he decided to just leave it there for now, instead moving to make his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

He got lost in the first movie pretty quickly, and just like every time he watched one of these, he would go back several years in his head, back when Sam had been little and they would watch these movies together. Every time a new one would come out, Sam would demand they had to watch all the other ones again, and while Dean would pretend to be annoyed and bored throughout every single one of them, putting on a show that he was only doing it to make Sam happy and calling his little brother a nerd more times than he could count, Dean had really loved it—both the movies and just spending time with Sam.

Fuck, how he missed that.

At least Dean had a friend he could still do that stuff with now—be as nerdy as he wanted to with no shame whatsoever, which he didn’t feel comfortable with doing around anyone else. But again, he was pretty sure that Charlie might be mad at him right now, for how he’d pretty much dodged all of her attempts at getting him to go out with her or go over to her house, or even come over to his place over the past few weeks.

Not that she’d actually said it, but Dean knew how to read her pretty well. They’d known each other for about eight years now, anyway. Their texting had quieted down a lot in the past few weeks, and whenever they sent each other anything it was normally just some random comment or joke they’d come across, which wasn’t completely unlike them, but again, Dean could read her short responses and prolonged silences pretty well. She wasn’t happy with him, he knew that for a fact, but he also knew that he wasn’t ready to deal with what would come next if he were to reach out to her right now, so that would still have to wait a little while. At least she still replied to him whenever he sent her anything, even if sometimes it was nothing more than a row of laughing emojis and a short comment, so that was good.

He really should try to make it up to her soon. He used to swing by her store after work sometimes a few months back, whenever he managed to get out of the shop early. He would take her some food or coffee so they could spend a couple of hours talking and just catching up with each other’s lives, just spending some time together, blabbing away and making each other laugh, hanging out just as good friends did. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure when exactly he’d stopped doing it, so he decided he should probably fix that soon.

Yeah. He could do that.

By the time the first movie ended he was already feeling sleepy, which again was really no surprise at all, so he settled for watching something else instead of hopping right into the next movie, just in case he fell asleep, and somehow he ended up settling for _Finding Dory_ , because he loved that fish and no one would ever hear him apologize for it.

His eyelids were already drooping before he was even a full hour into the movie, and he was pretty sure he might fall asleep soon, but instead of getting up and going to bed like he knew he probably should, he just kept getting himself more and more comfortable on the couch until he was actually lying down fully, fighting actual sleep for as long as he possibly could, until at some point his thoughts slipped back into that odd, meaningless limbo state of half-consciousness. This time it got weird, though—he was in a completely unfamiliar place, a big, open room that he assumed was supposed to be the place of Sam’s upcoming wedding, but he wasn’t sure about that, because it felt weird. There was just something wrong about it—the décor looked a lot like the one in his and Lisa’s wedding, but the color of everything looked a lot more faded, and he didn’t really recognize anyone there. He was looking for someone, but he didn’t know who that was for sure, and he just kept walking through the crowd asking around, but no one looked familiar or was able to help him.

He kept walking and walking, asking people for help only to have them ignore him or turn away, and he couldn’t quite locate whomever he was looking for. He didn’t even know where to go.

He just wanted to—

A shatter.

The sound of glass breaking suddenly cut through the air of the apartment, and Dean jumped, startled. At first he thought one of his beer bottles had somehow fallen to the floor and broken into pieces with the impact, but just a moment later he noticed both bottles were still sitting exactly where he’d left them after drinking both of them empty earlier—resting perfectly upright and completely intact on top of the coffee table. He couldn’t see glass anywhere around him, either, so whatever had been broken hadn’t been in the living room, but the sound had been unusually loud, so it had been close. Maybe it had come from the kitchen? He wasn’t sure.

It registered a second later that maybe a window had been broken, and suddenly Dean was completely alert, body tense as he all but jumped to his feet. But once he was standing he moved slowly, surveying his surroundings carefully as he tried to both look for anything out of the ordinary and locate something he could possibly use as a weapon in case someone had actually had broken in somehow, hands clenching and unclenching a few times around empty air as there was nothing useful he could immediately lay his eyes on.

He could hold his own in a physical fight, though, he was pretty sure, so he decided to just go for it.

Slowly, he crossed the living room and walked toward the kitchen door, careful not to make a single sound as he moved. His muscles were tense and prepared for a possible fight that could start at any second now, every single movement carefully calculated, steps patient and measured.

But when finally he got to the kitchen, all he found waiting for him there was the glass he’d used earlier and left on the counter, which was now completely shattered on the floor, shards spread over the tiles for a good portion of the small room.

He ignored the mess for a moment and eyed the kitchen around him, frowning as he found nothing else out of place; no sign of what had caused the glass to fall anywhere around it. He knew he’d left it far enough from the edge of the counter and that it couldn’t have just fallen to the floor on its own, so he had no idea how this had happened at all, as everything else was exactly as he’d left it.

He had no idea what to think of this, and as he found no answers in the kitchen, he proceeded to give the entire apartment a thorough search, once more finding nothing out of the ordinary anywhere—nothing else broken or moved, as well as no damaged windows or signs of a break-in at all, as the front door and all windows were still properly locked and perfectly intact, so really, no one had been in here.

Maybe it had been a rat? He’d never had a rat problem here, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t suddenly have one. Damn it, it had been a rat, hadn’t it? It was the only possibility that made sense, so as he walked back to the kitchen he made a mental note to himself to stop at the store tomorrow on his way back home and buy some rat poison to take care of that.

When finally the matter of how this had happened was settled and he was sure no one had broken into his apartment, Dean got busy with cleaning the freaking mess on his floor, because that was all he could do right now. He picked up the biggest shards from the tiles with his hands, swept the medium sized pieces next, and then vacuumed the rest because he had learned it the hardest, most painful way that even if it looked like there was no glass left, that might not be quite true.

The lights did that weird flickering thing again as he cleaned, and he glared up at the damn things for what felt like the hundredth time this month, because that was just a silent, insistent reminder of something else he still had to deal with, but that he had yet not gotten around to.

Once he was done dealing with the mess, Dean looked around inside the cupboards, curiosity winning out in the end, but he found no telltale signs of rats anywhere. There was a part of him that wasn’t entirely convinced that was what had really happened here, but then what other explanation was there? It wasn’t like he had a pet or anyone else living with him that could have done it, so it really was the only thing that made sense.

But just obsessing over this right now wouldn’t do much, so maybe it was best for him to just shrug it off for now and go to bed, because it was already getting late, and now that the adrenaline from when the glass had first shattered and abruptly woken him up was no longer cursing through his veins, he was already feeling tired again, now even more than he had earlier.

However, as he got himself ready for bed, after he’d brushed his teeth and made sure all windows and the front door really were locked and in proper conditions one last time, just as he was actually about to lie down onto his mattress to finally get some rest, he felt yet another shiver running down his spine as that weird cold breeze coming from nowhere hit him, brushing against his skin as if there was actually some sort of air current moving across his apartment, which had been happening a lot these past few days. But of course, when he went to check the air conditioner, he found it off, just as he usually did. Seriously, how the fuck did that even work? Did it turn on randomly and then off again just a little while later, so when Dean came to check on it, it wasn’t running anymore? Did that even made sense?

With an annoyed shake of his head and a tired huff, as he crawled under the covers on his bed—that he shouldn’t even need, because again, it was fucking June—Dean vowed to himself that he would get everything taken care of tomorrow.

***~*~*~*~***

And surprisingly, he actually did. On his way back home from work the next day, he stopped by the store close to his apartment building and bought a few boxes of rat poison, which he spread around under cabinets and anywhere he could think of that might work, hoping it would do the trick, so that was one problem dealt with.

And nothing else showed up broken in the following days, so maybe it had worked.

Except for the day when Dean had left his keys on the coffee table when he’d gotten home after work—and he was sure of that, because he distinctly remembered dropping them onto the table as he’d walked by—but later on he’d found them on the floor by the front door, an incident that still had him very confused and pretty much questioning his own sanity a little. But just like with the glass, he chose not to dwell too much on it. He was probably just remembering it wrong.

Maybe.

He also finally called someone to take a look at the electrical part of his apartment—a weird dude name Scott who had come highly recommended by Ash. And the guy was pretty professional, Dean had to give him that; he moved with obvious certainty and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing while he gave Dean’s entire apartment a once over. He'd seemed very invested in figuring out the source of the issue, but in the end Scott had announced that he had no idea where the problem was coming from. As far as he could tell (at least without taking down any walls), the wiring of the apartment was fine, and there was no reason for any short-circuiting anywhere, just as there was no reason for the air conditioner to be turning itself on and off like Dean was suspecting it was.

So yeah, that had been money right down the drain.

That whole thing made him wonder if maybe it wasn’t an issue with the whole building, though. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having these problems, because if that was the case, then they should really look into this. He should probably ask around, so then people could help him figure this out, because again, he really didn’t want to die in a fire. Plus, the light thing was already getting a little bit annoying and the air conditioner had been going off almost every night now. It was already a habit of his by now to sleep with at least a duvet, and summer had just rolled around, so this was just ridiculous.

But Dean didn’t really talk to any of his neighbors, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to just go around the building knocking on doors asking people if they were having weird electrical problems of any sort, because yeah. No. Not happening. So he decided to just ask about it once he ran into someone at least a bit familiar in the hallways and that he could actually talk to.

And it was just his luck that he ran into the weird lady from down the hall one morning when he was leaving for work the next week. She was actually getting home by the looks of it, and briefly he wondered where she could have wandered out to at before 7 in the morning on a Monday, but it wasn’t his place to ask, so he didn’t.

“Hey, Mrs.…” He realized one second too late that he’d never managed to remember her name the last time he’d tried, so he was left staring at her awkwardly, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t spoken at all.

She didn’t seem offended by it, though, giving him a small, genuine smile. It was oddly warm, her dark brown eyes suddenly looking so much lighter, as if that smile alone had been enough to light up her entire face somehow. She actually looked amused as she said, “Moseley, dear. But don’t you go calling me Mrs. Moseley, because that’s my mother. Missouri is fine.”

Right. Well, it was really no wonder that Dean hadn’t been able to remember that on his own, but at least she didn’t look mad or upset about it.

Dean nodded numbly at her, doing his best to give her a genuine smile. “Yeah, okay, sorry. I, uh… I’m Dean, by the way, Dean Winchester, from 4B,” He gestured toward his door a few steps behind him, as if there weren’t any big, obvious golden letters attached to the wood that told her exactly that, “I mean, in case you didn’t know.”

“I do,” she said simply, with a small nod.

Oh. Well, didn’t that make him feel so much better.

This was going wonderful so far.

“Right,” he chuckled nervously, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, I… Missouri,” She gave him another soft smile and a tiny nod of her head at the name, “I just wanted to ask you about something. I mean, I’ve been having a few issues with the wiring in my apartment lately, but the electrician I called couldn't really find the problem. The guy stayed over an entire afternoon last week poking around all over the place, but he found nothing, and I was just wondering if maybe it’s really just me, or if there’s anyone else having problems.”

Missouri seemed to think about the question for a beat, eyes narrowing just a little, until finally shook her head slowly, frowning lightly at him, “What kind of problems?”

Dean shrugged. “Just, some lights acting weird, like, going on and off at random times, and the air conditioning kind of goes crazy without a warning some days and makes the temperature drop all of a sudden. And it’s working fine when I use it. I’ve turned it on to test it a few times and it doesn’t turn off by itself or anything, so I really don’t know what’s causing it.”

Missouri nodded slowly, and once more she seemed to think his words through for a silent pause, this one stretching on for a little longer than the previous. A little longer than Dean had expected, too, and he shifted his weight a little on his spot as he waited, unsure what to make of the awkward silence that had suddenly fallen over them.

“I see,” she finally replied, nodding slowly. Her eyes seemed to have lost a lot of their previous warmth, growing oddly serious without a warning, as if suddenly this friendly conversation had turned into a discussion about a matter of extreme importance. Those two words were spoken slowly and almost carefully, like she wasn’t sure what she should be saying, her tone almost detached, like her mind was suddenly far away from there, which was a little confusing.

But Dean didn’t really have time to comment on it, as a moment later her entire demeanor changed once more, going back to what it had been earlier so fast that the abrupt shift had Dean even more confused. He frowned a little at her, and she smiled softly at him, almost soothingly, and he assumed she must have noticed his confusion.

“Well, I haven’t had any problems like that, but I can ask around if you want. I know most of the people who live here. I can tell you if anyone else has been having issues.”

Dean was still confused, but he found himself nodding at her nonetheless. “Yeah… sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

She nodded at him. “Well, now that the problem’s been settled,” She smiled at Dean again, but for some reason if felt a little off, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why, “I have some plants to water now. So, if you’ll excuse me, dear.” Dean nodded numbly at her once more, sidestepping so she could continue making her way past him and over to her own apartment. Soon after, though, she seemed to notice how stiff he still was, or at least that there was something bothering him, because she paused, turning back around. He watched her eyes soften a little, and her smile seemed a little more genuine all of a sudden, “There’s no need to worry. Everything will be fixed in no time. You’ll see.”

She nodded at him yet again, and then turned back around and stepped forward, walking over to her own apartment and unlocking the door. She gave him one last smile as she walked inside, “Have a nice day, dear.”

Dean couldn’t find it in himself to respond, so he just gave her a little wave as she disappeared from sight, lips curling up a little in a small smile of his own.

And then he cursed himself in his head, because ugh, a wave, really? What was wrong with him? He really needed to get out more. It was like he didn’t even know how to act around people anymore.

But, well, that entire exchange had been the opposite of normal, so maybe he got a pass on this one.

Dean stared at Missouri’s closed door for only a moment before shaking his head, deciding to just shrug the whole incident off, as much as it had bothered him; as intrigued as he was by it. That woman was weird, he’d always known that, and that brief conversation had simply cemented that even more in his mind, but he shouldn’t let this get to him. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked to her, but it wasn’t like he could go back and change that now. And if this somehow got his problem solved, then it might have been worth it in the end.

Keeping that thought in mind, he walked off, pushing all the thoughts about the weird lady from down the hall aside and taking in a deep breath as he tried not to think too much about the whole day of work he still had ahead of him.

***~*~*~*~***

Dean shifted his weight awkwardly as he stared at the open sign hanging from the inside of the glass door right in front of him, glad that he’d at least made it here in time. Business had been pretty slow at the garage today, so when he’d asked Bobby to leave a little earlier, the old man had given him nothing more than a low grunt of acknowledgement and a wave of his hand in response, mumbling for him to just go ahead and get lost, and Dean hadn’t wasted a single second to leave after that, fearing that Bobby might change his mind if he lingered around for much longer.

So he’d made a quick pit stop at a café a few blocks away to buy some good apology material, and now he was here, standing right outside of Charlie’s store, trying to find the will to make himself go inside, clasping the paper bag and cup holder he had in his hands a little more tightly than he probably should, so much the bag was already a little crumpled in his grasp, but he couldn’t quite make himself weaken his hold. He would let go of it pretty soon, he reasoned, so it didn’t matter.

The problem was—he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he would get once he went inside, because he was doing this completely unplanned, completely out of the blue, without any heads up whatsoever. But then again, it wasn’t like Charlie was completely averse to surprise visits. He’d never needed to give her a heads up before, so this shouldn’t really be an issue, right?

 _Come on, man up, Winchester,_ he told himself harshly, _It’s **Charlie.**_

He swallowed with a click, and at last he forced his feet to move, stepping forward and pushing the door handle down with his arm, using his body to push the door open, as he didn’t exactly have a free hand to use for that at the moment. The bell above the door announced his arrival as he entered, so he didn’t call out once he was inside, instead letting his eyes travel over the inside of the store as he silently noticed it hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been here.

He wasn’t sure where Charlie had gotten the idea for this place, but she had, and it worked pretty well. On the right side, there were rows and rows of bookshelves, filled with books for sale from all genres you could possibly imagine. And behind them, hidden from sight if you didn’t look at them in the right angle, were several bean bag chairs where people liked to just sit down and read, enjoying the calm, cozy atmosphere of the place, because that had been the original idea Charlie had gone for, and it was a good thing that she’d kept it that way, even after so long. Dean was pretty sure he could see someone back there right now, but he didn’t try and lean enough to check.

The other side was the electronics portion of the store, which consisted basically of several rows filled with all kinds of tech stuff you could imagine. Well, actually, he wasn't sure about that; maybe they were mostly stuff for computers. Maybe. Dean couldn’t really identify everything he saw there, so he didn’t usually linger much around that part of the store. Plus, Charlie did repairs on anything electronic—computers, phones, tablets, even video game consoles; Dean was pretty sure there wasn’t anything that girl couldn’t fix. Again, she was one of the smartest people Dean knew.

He actually took a moment to just look everything over, pausing to take it all in, feeling a weird warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of the familiar space in front of him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this place.

It was actually a long beat later when he managed to tear his eyes away, finally looking over to the front desk, and that was when he noticed the unfamiliar figure staring at him from behind the counter.

He frowned in confusion, taking in the sight of the very young boy—he couldn’t be older than 18, really—staring at him with wide eyes and a very awkward smile playing on his lips, as if he wasn’t sure how to deal with the fact that Dean was just looking around instead of walking over to where he was, or that he had walked into the store carrying a bunch of food, but he wasn’t sure if he should address it.

As soon as their eyes met, though, he finally seemed to snap out of it a little.

“Good afternoon, sir,” The boy tried for another smile, but it still looked very awkward on his face, “May I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Dean stepped forward a little, finally approaching the front desk, “I’m looking for Charlie.”

“Oh, yes, just a moment. She’s in the back.” He turned around, and then back around again to face Dean, one hand raised as he hesitated for a moment, apparently searching for words. Seriously, who was this kid? “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Tell her it’s a friend,” Dean said, preferring not to give away who was out here just yet, at least not before Charlie actually came out to talk to him.

The boy seemed unsure of how to respond to that, probably wondering if he should probe a little more for a name, but Dean raised an eyebrow at him and the boy simply nodded instead.

“Alright. Okay.” He nodded again, and then scurried toward the door behind the desk. “I’ll be right back. Just a sec,” he said as he vanished through the door, steps hurried and a little hectic.

Again, Dean wondered what the hell the kid was doing here.

He didn’t have to wait for too long, and only a brief moment of standing awkwardly in the middle of the store later, Dean found himself watching as a very familiar redhead emerged from the same door.

Charlie froze as soon as she walked into the main area of the store, eyes widening a little in surprise as she clearly had no expected to find Dean standing there, which really was no surprise at all, but quickly her expression dissolved into something that resembled annoyance as she raised an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh, fancy meeting _you_ here.” There wasn’t an actual bite to her tone, he noted. In fact, the main thing Dean could hear coating her words wasn’t actual annoyance; instead her voice sounded a lot lighter than what Dean had expected to hear, but the way her eyes narrowed a little as she spoke told Dean that he wasn’t completely off the hook. She also seemed to be waiting for an explanation of some sort, but Dean decided to go slow with this. He would have to tread carefully now; he knew Charlie well enough to know that by now. At least she didn’t seem truly mad at him, so that was good.

“Okay, before you try to throw me out,” Dean lifted the bag and the cup holder he still had in his hands, “I come bearing gifts.”

If possible, her eyebrow went up a little higher. “Oh, so you’re trying to sweet-talk me with food.”

Dean gave her a sheepish smile, “Well, I’ve never seen you pass up on a freshly baked chocolate croissant and free coffee before.”

Charlie didn’t look completely convinced, and her eyes narrowed a bit more, eyeing the bag as if she might be able to see through it somehow if she looked at it hard or long enough.

So Dean lifted the food a little more, giving the redhead another smile, this time with a lot more confidence as he could clearly see her annoyance wavering, “It’s still warm, by the way.”

She paused, eyes narrowing even more as she seemed to consider his peace offering, but finally she sighed, body sagging in defeat, annoyed front dissolving quickly right before Dean’s eyes. She shook her head at him, huffing a little, but there was a small smile clearly bleeding into lips, even if she was obviously trying to fight it. She turned her head to stare at the boy from before, who had been standing beside her since they’d walked through the door a moment prior. He'd been watching the exchange in silence, looking like he had no idea what to do, and, well, Dean couldn't really blame him for that. “Kevin, you okay to handle the front desk for a little longer?”

The boy—Kevin, apparently—nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s under control, boss.”

Charlie gave him a look, eyebrow rising once more. “What did I tell you about calling me boss?”

Kevin swallowed, but nodded again. “I’m sorry. Charlie.”

“Attaboy,” Charlie smiled at him, giving him a nod of approval before she turned back to Dean. “Now, Winchester, you better not be pulling my leg about this.” The joking, light tone he was used to hearing from her was back, and it lifted a weight from his chest to hear it again after so long, especially when maybe he didn’t really deserve it.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They made their way into the back of the shop after that, leaving Kevin to once more handle the front desk alone, and even though Dean was a little unsure whether that was really a good idea, he didn't comment on it. Well, not right away, at least.

They walked down the small hallway in the back of the store in silence. There were four doors around them, and by memory he knew where each of them led—there was the one they’d just walked through that obviously led to the front of the shop, then there was the one to his left that led to the storage. The one to the right led to the small room with a bathroom and a couch that was supposed to be some sort of employees' lounge, but that didn’t get used at all most of the time, and then there was the farthest one at the end of the hallway, which led to Charlie’s apartment on the floor above.

Charlie went straight to the door concealing the staircase that led up to her apartment, instead of the one to the employees' lounge, which had been what Dean had assumed she would do. Without a word, she unlocked it, leaving it open for Dean to follow her, then closing the door behind her once they were both past it, but not locking it again.

“What’s up with junior back there?” Dean asked as soon as they were out of earshot, while they climbed up the narrow staircase that led to Charlie’s living quarters.

“He was my neighbor, a few years back. You know, back at the old place.” Dean nodded silently in response, remembering Charlie’s old apartment, just a few blocks away from here. He’d spent quite a few nights there, during their video game binges when they were younger. “And I’ve always felt so bad for him, because his mom is kind of a nutjob. I mean, she’s nice and all, she's just... overprotective and really strict with him. But he used to come over sometimes so I could teach him about computers and stuff. He’s kind of a genius.”

“How did he end up here, though? I mean, you moved here years ago.”

“Well, he came by a few weeks ago to ask me about an issue he was having with his laptop that he couldn't figure out how to fix on his own,” Charlie explained as she opened her front door to allow them both inside, “And I’ve been wanting to hire someone for a while, because, you know, that way I can be up here most of the time working on the repairs instead of manning the counter.”

It made sense, of course—Charlie really seemed to be at her happiest whenever she was working on a computer, doing everything she could to find the problem with it and 'carefully nurse it back to full health,' as she would say. He could actually see three laptops on the living room table right now, and while he had no idea what was wrong with two of them, he winced at the sight of the third one, which had its screen completely cracked.

“He seems a little…?” Dean paused, unsure of how to finish that.

“Awkward?” Charlie offered, and he nodded. “Well, again, his mother wouldn’t really let him go out at all. Still doesn’t, really, and I have no idea how I managed to convince her to let him work for me, but at least here he can talk to some people. Let’s just say he’s… a work in progress. And I mean, I know the kid pretty well. I pretty much watched him grow up. I actually taught him a lot of stuff, and he was so eager when I offered him the job. Apparently his mother calculates his allowance weighing out his grades and chores at home, so it’s not a constant thing, and he keeps stressing out about everything he does because he has to do it perfectly, or else he gets… points take out or something. She gives everything a value somehow. She even has an Excel table for it.”

Dean whistled in response, “Well, you really weren’t kidding when you said she was a nutjob.”

“Oh, you don’t even know half of it,” she chuckled, and then guided them over to the couch, where they both sat down. Dean placed the food onto the coffee table, already feeling lighter somehow, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he was finally seeing his friend again, or maybe it was due to finding out that she didn’t outright hate him. Maybe it was just for being in such a familiar room after so long, where he’d spent so many hours of his life. He was pretty sure it might be a combination of everything.

“Now, on to the reason why you’re here.”

Right. Straight to the point, then. Dean opened his mouth to respond, but no word came out at first, so he closed it only a beat later, swallowing drily. His mind came up blank for a moment, because while he’d been struggling with figuring out what to say to Charlie for days now, he hadn’t quite come up with anything particularly insightful. He didn’t have a good reason why he’d been dodging her, nor did he want to get into it just yet, even if he had come all the way here. He wasn’t—

“Come on, gimme my food.”

Dean frowned at her, giving her a surprised look, and for some reason Charlie looked amused, but still raised an eyebrow at him.

Alright, then. He wasn’t going to waste the chance he’d been offered, as she was apparently giving him with more time to think, so he hurried to open the small bag where the croissants were, happy to find that they were still very much warm, so the chocolate inside was probably still very much melted and delicious.

Charlie seemed very happy with her coffee and her baked good, so all they did for a while was eat in silence, just enjoying the good food and company without saying anything, nibbling at their marvelous croissants without a word, taking careful, slow sips from their respective coffee cups every few minutes.

Until Charlie broke the silence, of course.

“So,” she started when she was about halfway done with her croissant, “Am I going to have to actually ask, or are you gonna make it easy for me?”

Dean looked over at her, and he took advantage of the fact that he had his mouth full right then, chewing slowly and only swallowing after a long beat as he once more tried to come up with something to say. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, “How many times will I have to apologize for being such a shitty friend?”

Charlie tilted her head a little to the side, and she seemed to be thinking about the matter for a moment, even though she was obviously putting up a bit of a show. “I haven’t decided yet,” she admitted, smiling a little, a clear joking tone coating her words as she added, “But I think this is a pretty good start.”

Dean chuckled, and Charlie joined him pretty quickly, but the sound died down sooner than Dean had expected it to, her expression shifting into something heavier all of a sudden, like she hadn’t quite managed to keep the light laughter going for more than a second; like the joking, friendly front she'd had up until now had suddenly crumbled, which that the Winchester frowning in confusion.

“Char?”

Charlie swallowed, looking down at her food, as if considering taking another bite, but instead she just fiddled with the napkin she had wrapped around it, which was even more confusing, and maybe a bit alarming.

There was something wrong.

“You don’t need to apologize, Dean.” Charlie’s voice had dropped in volume, growing lower and weaker, almost like a tentative whisper, and that had all kinds of alarms going off inside Dean’s head. She looked up at him, a weak shrug forming on her shoulders as she said, “Seriously, I get it.”

Dean frowned at her, eyeing his friend with surprised eyes, trying to read her expression, and the odd, heavy, actually sad look in her eyes was so out of place that he had to take a beat to take it in and try to process it, as well as to even begin to think about what to say in response to those words. He didn't even know what she'd meant by them.

“Okay, you’ve lost me now,” he finally said, voice lowering as well, because anything else suddenly felt wrong. For some reason he got the impression that he should be walking on eggshells around her right now. “Did something happen?”

Charlie swallowed again, letting her gaze drop again, and that was enough of an answer for him.

But he didn’t insist; didn’t immediately probe for more information, instead letting the silence linger around them, hoping that would do the trick. He knew her well enough to know that pushing her to talk wouldn’t get him anywhere and that Charlie would eventually open up at her own pace.

And she did.

“I broke up with Gilda.”

The words were a shock to say the least, and at first Dean could only stare at Charlie in surprise, mouth falling open without actually letting out a sound as he tried to find something to say that sounded at least a tiny bit coherent.

“When?” was all he managed to ask in the end.

Charlie shrugged, nothing more than a weak, halfhearted movement that was barely even there. “Technically, a week ago, but… well, let’s just say it dragged on a little. We kept arguing until, like, three days ago. ”

The first thing that came to mind was to ask her why she hadn’t told him sooner, but he held that question back before it could actually slip from his lips, because he knew that wasn’t what Charlie wanted to hear right now. She was upset, and very much so, but she had every right to be—Charlie and Gilda had been together for what, four years now? That was a long time, so of course this wasn’t easy. Dean had been sure they would be getting married soon, but apparently that wasn't going to happen now.

“Why?” he asked instead.

She shook her head. “I mean, we'd been having problems for a while, but... She’s moving to the UK, for work. It’s the break she’s always wanted, but I can’t… I can’t go with her.”

Dean nodded numbly in understanding, because of course he knew why. Charlie’s mother was here, in the US, and he wasn't sure if moving her was an option, but he couldn't find it in himself to ask.

Charlie had been nine years old when her parents had gotten involved in a car accident caused by a drunk driver. They had been driving to pick the girl up from a sleepover at a friend's house, because she had called them in the middle of the night to tell them she was scared and wanted to go home, and Dean knew that deep down, even to this day, Charlie still blamed herself for it, even if it had been in no way her fault. Her father had died that night, but her mother had been in a coma for about two decades now, and even bedridden and completely unresponsive as she was, Charlie still went to visit her every single week. Every single Wednesday morning you wouldn’t find Charlie at her store or anywhere else, but sitting beside the hospital bed that had been her mother’s home for the past twenty years.

And of course Charlie couldn't just leave her here.

“Char…” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

“That’s why you don’t need to apologize,” she stated. Her voice was shaking, he could hear it clearly, and it hurt to notice just how much it trembled; how much she was struggling to actually talk right then. But that didn’t seem to be enough to stop her. “I mean, you’re upset, but you don’t wanna talk about it. You don’t want people asking you if you’re okay, because you don’t want to keep repeating the same thing over and over again. You don’t wanna hear them tell you that you’re gonna fine, that it’ll pass, that all you can do now is move on. You don’t want people to look at you like they pity or feel bad for you, because that’s the last thing you need.”

Charlie’s eyes were shining, filled with unshed tears that she was clearly struggling to hold back, and the sight was so painful to see, like a fist closing over his heart and squeezing at it, tearing it right out of his chest.

He wished he knew what to say to make this better; he wished _there was_ something he could do or say to fix this, but just as Charlie herself had just said, there wasn’t. Words wouldn’t suddenly make everything better, so talking about it wouldn’t actually do any good if she didn’t want it. He knew that too well.

“I didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t… I just didn’t tell anyone.” She took in a shaky breath, and the first tear slid down her cheek right then, “Just like I know you didn’t, because I know you. Trust me, I know what that feels like, to just wish… that everyone would stop asking about it. I’ve been doing that my whole life.”

Dean knew she wasn’t talking just about Gilda anymore, and that only made her words hurt even more; made his chest feel even heavier with the urge to do something, _anything_ , because watching his friend hurting like this was truly suffocating.

So he moved, resting his food back on the table and taking hers from her hands, placing it beside his, before pulling Charlie forward into his arms, and fortunately she didn’t resist; didn’t fight him as he wrapped his arms around her.

And so Dean held her as she cried, sobbing softly against his chest. He didn’t try to tell her empty promises, though; didn’t try to convince her that this was for the best; that everything happened for a reason and that later on she would move on and find someone else, because she didn’t need that right now. He'd gone through this too many times before in his life, with his parents' divorce and then his own, so he knew way too well that empty promises were the last thing she needed from him right now. She just needed her friend to be here for her, and in a way, maybe that was what Dean needed too. And maybe it was selfish of him to take comfort from this as well, when Charlie was clearly the one who needed it the most, but he didn't dwell on it too much. Instead, he just let the silence linger, heavy and loaded around them, filled with Charlie's low, muffled sobs as he hoped that later on, after finally letting it all out like this, she would feel at least a tiny bit better.

Because that was all he could do right now, and it would have to be enough.

***~*~*~*~***

“Shouldn’t you guys have settled this like, months ago?”

Dean heard Sam huff on the other end, _“We did, but the bakery called us yesterday saying that they’ll be understaffed the day of the wedding, because they just now realized that apparently someone made a mistake and there are two weddings booked on the same date, so they won’t be able to make one of them.”_

“So why is you guys’ wedding the one that doesn’t get done?”

_“Because ours was booked after.”_

“That’s bullshit,” Dean snapped, “Dude, your wedding is what, two months away? Can they even do that?”

 _“Apparently, yeah,”_ Another huff followed, and Dean could perfectly see his brother running his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was nervous, _“But I mean, it doesn’t matter. I’m just happy we picked another place for the cake, because **that** would have been a problem. This one only has the desserts order. And they gave us a list of other places that are recommended and that will actually charge us less than normal because of the whole screw up, so at least we're saving a bit of money."_  Sam let out a low chuckle, and Dean couldn't help but join in. At least that, indeed, because man, wedding stuff was expensive. Dean knew that too well. _"And Jess found a place that she really liked on the list, and they already agreed to the wedding, so she pretty much got everything sorted out as fast as she could, already gave them our orders and schedule and everything. We just need to do the taste testing to be sure we like everything, but I can’t go with her next week. I have a lot going on at work right now and the office is a mess with this new case that got in, so I can’t get out early or get in late any day anytime soon.”_

Dean was still annoyed with this story, but he didn’t press on the issue. It was Sam’s wedding, so really, if his brother had gotten over it, then he probably should as well. And things were apparently already pretty much sorted out, anyway, so he simply let out a breath, nodding lightly even if there was no one in the room with him to see it.

“Yeah, okay,” he said instead, “What time do you need me there?”

_“Tuesday at 8. I'll text you the address. It shouldn’t take too long, but you’ll probably spend a couple of hours there.”_

“Yeah, alright,” Dean nodded again.

_“Are you sure you’re okay with this, though? I can ask Mom if you don't want to go. And I mean, isn’t Bobby going to—”_

“You really think Bobby will refuse to let me off one morning to help out fix _your_ wedding, Sam?” Sam didn’t reply, and Dean knew his brother had no response for that. There was just no question about it, really, because of course Bobby wouldn't mind. He might even get mad if Dean as much as implied that to him at all; would probably even call them both  _idjits_ for even thinking about it. “And seriously, one entire morning of stuffing my face full of fancy sweets for free? Who wouldn’t love that?”

Sam chuckled, and his tone was a lot lighter as he agreed, _“Yeah, okay. Good point.”_

They talked idly after that, about nothing important in particular, and way sooner than what Dean would have liked the call ended. He didn’t let it get to him, though—Sam had sounded truly exhausted, probably because he had been working like crazy lately, so Dean really shouldn’t keep taking up too much of his little brother’s time like that.

With a sigh, Dean got up from his bed, leaving his phone on the nightstand as he forced his body to move, since all that was left for him to do now was get ready for bed. Tomorrow was Friday, which meant he would have Ben over, and he couldn’t be too tired at night, since this would be the last time he would be seeing his son for three weeks, so he wanted to spend as much time with the boy as he possibly could. Tomorrow was Ben's last day of school before summer break, and next week Lisa would be taking Ben to Matt’s parents' ranch in Montana.

Because _of course_ that damn dude's family had a fucking ranch, Dean thought with a scoff.

Ben seemed very excited about it, though. He’d never been to the ranch before, and apparently they had a lot of horses and even a handful of ponies, so anyone could easily imagine that a 7-year-old was very happy that he would get to spend three weeks at a place like that.

But Dean missed him already.

He tried to push those thoughts away as he walked over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get himself ready for bed, mindlessly going through his usual routine—he flossed, brushed his teeth, then rinsed his mouth with water from the tap, before at last getting the mouthwash out. He filled his mouth with it, then waited until it burned on his tongue to spit it out, letting it all fall right out of his mouth and into the sink, before lowering his head even more so he could get some more water inside his mouth to end the burn.

He lifted his head, reaching for the towel to dry his chin and mouth, eyes moving to glance at the mirror—

And that was when he noticed there was a man standing behind him.

“What the _fuck_?!”

Dean turned around, eyes wide and body tense, and instinctively he glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, but except for the toilet brush, there really wasn’t anything that immediately stood out to him.

The man wasn’t doing anything, though; he was just staring at Dean with wide blue eyes. The dude actually looked more confused than anything else, and the fact that he was just standing there saying nothing was very, _very_ creepy. He was wearing a fancy, tailored suit with a deep blue tie that was actually on backwards, plus polished black shoes and a heavy tan trench coat over everything. He actually looked like some sort of rich stuck up business man, which just didn't make any sense at all.

For a moment, just a brief moment, Dean's brain apparently felt it necessary to point out to him that with the startlingly blue eyes (and _fuck,_ why did they look so  _familiar?_ ), sharp jawline, messy bedhead and fancy suit, the dude was very easily the type Dean would have gone for a few years ago, back when he still did one night stands and actually picked up people at bars, but he pushed that thought away as soon as it came because, well,  _not the fucking time._

“Who the fuck are you?” he let out, voice harsh and demanding.

Finally that seemed to get a reaction out of the man, who blinked at Dean once, twice, but still he said nothing for a long beat. He looked surprised, a frown taking over his brows as he tilted his head to the side, as if considering Dean somehow; as if he couldn’t quite understand what Dean was doing there, which was completely ridiculous as _this was Dean’s apartment_.

And the most confusing part was that what came out of the man’s mouth almost a full minute later was, “You… You can see me?”

“Of course I can fucking see you,” Dean snapped, giving the dude an incredulous look. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? “Why the hell are you in my apartment? How did you get in here?”

The guy was still staring, which made Dean all the more annoyed, but his eyes were wider now, if that was even possible. He took a hesitant step forward, and he looked like he wanted to reach out, right hand rising in the air a few inches, but in the end he didn’t, apparently changing his mind about it only a second later and instead letting his hand fall back to hang by his side. Dean held his ground, though, even if his first instinct was to take a step back and keep a certain distance between them, because he had no idea who this guy was or what he was doing here. He did lift his arms in front of his body, though, just in case he needed to use his hands to protect himself.

But he wasn’t afraid of this guy, now that his surprise had worn off and he had gotten the chance to really look at him. He was smaller than Dean and the way he was standing was in no way threatening, just stiff. Dean was pretty sure he could take him if he had to.

That didn't mean he wasn't freaking Dean out, though, especially with all the staring.

“Dude, I’m waiting here.”

“I…” The man looked down, looking like he was thinking his words through. He shook his head just a moment later, looking back up at Dean, licking his chapped lips once before finally letting out, “I believe I’m dead.”

_…What?_

Dean opened his mouth to speak, although he wasn’t sure what had been about to come out of it right then. He was pretty sure he hadn’t heard the guy right; he just couldn’t have. Either that or the dude was just completely nuts and lost, and had somehow found his way into his apartment, because of course that was something Dean wanted to deal with.

Before Dean could speak, the lights flickered again, and for a second, for just a fucking second, Dean looked away from the dude, glancing up at the treacherous light bulb hanging over both of their heads on the bathroom ceiling.

And just a second later—really, _just a fucking second later—_ he lowered his gaze to look back at the crazy guy in his bathroom.

But there was no one there.

Dean started, looking around the bathroom, but he found there was no longer another person in there with him, and there was no fucking way the dude had moved that fast and bolted. There was _no way._ Dean had looked away for only a short second, nothing more than that, and that was definitely not enough time for someone to just vanish like that.

Quickly, he walked out of the bathroom, glancing down the hallway, but there was no one there either. He checked every single room in the entire apartment, but there was no sign of anyone  _anywhere,_ just as there was absolutely no trace of a break-in; no telltale signs of how a fully grown man could have gotten in and out of his apartment at all. There was _nothing_. It was like the guy wasn’t even real; like he hadn't been here at all. It was like he had simply vanished in the thin air, like a fucking—

 _“I believe I’m dead,”_ he’d said.

_What the fuck?_

_What the **fuck?**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Cas, do you not know it's impolite to show up at people's house unannounced and just disappear when they try to talk to you? *disapproving shake of head* ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is very late, and I'm sorry for that. :( But I hope you guys enjoy this update nonetheless.<3
> 
> Warning: This chapter gets pretty heavy and deals with a few delicate topics, which include the mention of a kid's (minor character) complicated family situation, as well as another young child's thoughts on the situation of their divorced parents and their reaction to a very hurtful comment made about that same topic, which makes them very upset. I do not know what that feels like myself, but I tried to convey something real, so this chapter turned out very emotional and heavy.

_“Bring me out. Come and find me in the dark now._  

_Everyday by myself I’m breaking down.”_  

***~*~*~*~***

The incident haunted Dean the entire night that followed—no pun intended.

He didn’t sleep at all throughout the whole night, but all things considered, that really wasn’t surprising at all. No matter how much he tossed and turned on his bed, how many times he punched his pillow and tried to get more comfortable on the mattress, how many hours he spent doing absolutely nothing apart from simply staring up at the ceiling a few feet above him, waiting for unconsciousness to finally pull him under, he just couldn’t get his mind to fucking shut up. He really wished he could turn his own thoughts off for a while, just so he could actually get some rest.

But of course he couldn’t do that. And it wasn’t exactly surprising that he couldn’t get himself to relax enough so that he could fall asleep. He’d seen a dude, an actual fucking unknown person, a complete stranger he'd never seen before in his life, simply standing there in his bathroom with him, just  _staring_  at him, watching him silently like some fucking psycho. Dean hadn’t even realized the guy had been there at first, hadn't even heard him walk into the room at all, which was just all kinds of creepy. And just a short and really fucking confusing exchange later, the guy had apparently simply vanished in the fucking air, as if he hadn’t even been real at all; as if he hadn’t even been there to begin with, so  _of course Dean couldn’t fucking sleep._

He tried, though. He really did fucking try to get some very much needed shut-eye, but at some point he just gave up on it—about two hours before his alarm rang, in fact, because by then he was pretty sure it wouldn’t even be worth it if he did manage to fall asleep. So even if it was still dark outside, merely a couple of minutes past four in the fucking morning, Dean somehow managed to lift himself from his bed with an unhappy grunt, planning to go to the kitchen to make himself some coffee, as he was apparently staying awake now, so he would definitely need it.

And as he made his way to the kitchen, trudging slowly in the dark, he felt like a stranger in his own apartment, which he very much hated. With every fucking step he took, with every single movement he made, he felt compelled to glance over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone following him, or maybe even just standing there in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching him silently, somehow managing to go completely unnoticed like yesterday. Dean constantly felt like he was being watched while he moved around in his kitchen, making coffee and working on a heavy, full breakfast just because he needed to get occupied with  _something;_ had to keep his mind busy somehow, or else he might actually go insane. He kept glancing around the room every few minutes while he fried some eggs and bacon and made some toast, and every time he did it, it was like part of him just expected to find that man right there, standing behind him with his wide blue eyes, messy black hair and stuck up business man attire, backwards tie and all. 

But that didn’t happen, which somehow only made Dean even more uncomfortable and bothered, because he still had no idea where that guy had gone, and part of him still wasn't sure that the dude had even been real in the first place, which was a truly terrifying thought. Could he actually be going insane? Or could that dude actually have gotten in and out of the apartment that fast? What if he was  _still_ here somewhere?

Dean was aware that he might actually be bordering on actual paranoia at this point, but he was pretty sure he was entitled to.

And it wasn’t like he could call the police about this. What the hell would he even tell them? That someone had gotten into his apartment last night, but the front door had still been locked when Dean had checked it afterwards and there were no windows broken, just as there were absolutely no signs of a break-in of any sort? That the guy had done nothing but talk to him for two seconds before apparently vanishing in the fucking air, without leaving a single trace behind? That the dude had been gone in the blink of an eye, as if he had never even been there at all? That he’d actually said he believed he was dead?

That whole story sounded crazier every time Dean repeated it inside his head, and he was truly concerned that if he were to say any of it out loud, instead of believing him, anyone who heard it might actually want to get his sanity tested. And since he did not wish to get locked up in his very own padded cell any time soon, he’d refrained from calling the police or even mentioning the whole thing to anyone for the time being, at least until he actually understood what the hell had happened last night and he had something more concrete—and actually fucking believable, really—to base his story on.

And something about the man’s posture was still throwing Dean off. He just couldn’t really wrap his mind around the brief, odd interaction that had happened before the man had vanished. He didn't understand any of it, of course, but there was one specific detail from last night that to Dean was the most confusing part of this whole thing.

The thing was—the dude hadn’t seemed violent, or like he’d even had a purpose for being in Dean's apartment at all. He’d actually looked more awkward and lost on how to act than Dean himself, which was completely absurd, considering he was the one who hadn't been supposed to be there in the first place. But the guy had looked completely confused, as if he couldn't even understand how he'd gotten to that bathroom to begin with, and the words he'd said were doing the exact opposite of helping Dean figure that one out, especially the last ones.

_“I believe I’m dead.”_

What the fuck did that even mean?

A stubborn, unconscious part of Dean’s mind wanted to opine on that one, having quickly jumped to the most obvious and yet utterly insane conclusion that could be drawn based on those words, but he would push that thought away every time it as much as crossed his mind, because that was just ridiculous. He couldn’t even consider it, of course he couldn’t. That would pretty much be the same thing as accepting that he was insane, and he wasn’t sure he was quite there just yet.

And still, somehow, even after spending hour after hour last night telling himself to stop being ridiculous and borderline irrational for as much as thinking about that particular idea, for even allowing that thought into his mind, he found himself firing up his laptop as he sat down at the kitchen table to eat his breakfast, as he still had over two hours before he had to leave for work. He still hesitated for a good twenty minutes, just scrolling mindlessly through Facebook for a while as he calmly nibbled on his food, but at some point he finally made himself type the word that had been floating around in his head since the night before, clinging to the inside of his skull like a curse, into the search bar.

And quickly he learned that simply typing ‘ghost’ into Google was a very bad idea.

For one, it brought up a lot of useless results—articles and news about movies and fiction, basically, but then again, he shouldn’t have been exactly surprised by it. There were also various ads about ‘real haunted places’ to visit all over the world, which all sites vehemently insisted were completely real. Dean scoffed at every single one of them, rolling his eyes so many times it was a wonder how the things didn’t roll right out of their sockets after a while.

And then there were the blogs, and somehow those actually turned out to be the most helpful, but even that was debatable. Each one offered different pieces of lore and information, and Dean would have simply closed right out of those and snorted in disdain every fucking time he read about ‘dragging chains and pained sounds of tortured, lost souls echoing in the night’ if there weren’t parts of said pages that actually caught his attention.

Because some of them talked about cold spots, which were basically situations where the temperature would simply drop out of nowhere in random places like the corner of a room, even in the middle of summer, as well as wiring issues, like lights flashing randomly and without a reason, and objects being moved without explanation, which all had Dean swallowing drily and shifting on his seat as he forced himself to keep reading. He knew he shouldn’t keep going; that he really shouldn’t give any of the information he came across in a fucking internet search about fucking ghosts any fucking credit at all, and every now and then he would just stop and ask himself what the hell he was doing reading up on ghost lore online, but for some reason he couldn’t quite make himself click out of the pages once he realized they had some of the facts right.

Fuck, what was he  _doing?_

At some point the part of him that found all of this completely ridiculous and pointless finally won the battle happening inside his head, precisely when he started reading about how making lines of actual fucking salt around the house, like on the windowsills and doorways, should keep ghosts from entering buildings or certain rooms. With a huff, he closed his laptop with a loud thud, resting his elbows onto the table before him and lowering his head onto his palms, bending his neck forward a little and rubbing his hands over his face before moving them to run through his hair as he let out an exasperated sigh. There wasn’t a fucking ghost in his apartment, because there was no such thing as ghosts. There had to be some kind of rational explanation for this whole thing; something,  _anything_  that made  _actual fucking sense_.

He vowed to himself not to venture back on Google about this again and finally forced his body to move, telling himself that he had to get ready for work anyway, even if there was just no way that he could possibly end up late today, as he still had over an hour until he had to be at the garage.

So he quickly took care of all the dirty dishes, before retreating back to the bathroom so he could start actually getting ready for the day. And as he showered and got dressed, yet again Dean felt antsy in his own skin, bothered, as if he could actually feel eyes on him, observing him even if he couldn’t see them. Way too many times, he actually snapped at himself inside his own head, telling himself harshly over and over again that he was being ridiculous and that there was  _no fucking ghost_  spying on him and watching him change or shower, so he just had to stop acting so crazy about it. He couldn’t fucking live like this, feeling afraid all the time, paranoid that everything he did was being watched.

Too bad that annoying little voice in the back of his head, the one that still insisted there was something weird going on here, just refused to shut up.

***~*~*~*~***

“Hey, Winchester!”

“Just a sec!” Dean called out from under the car he’d been working on for the past two hours—a silver 2010 Citroën C3 with an oil leak. He was already done with the car, actually; he was just checking up on his work, making sure that everything had been done correctly and that he had actually solved the problem, since the owner was supposed to be picking this one up today around lunchtime. So he quickly gave everything one last once over before he gripped body of the car over him and used his arms as leverage to move the mechanic’s creeper under him, causing it to slide out from under the car.

He found Cole standing beside the Citroën, staring down at him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah?” Dean asked as he got back to his feet, reaching for a cloth on the table to the side to rid his hands of at least some of the oil sticking to his skin. It didn’t clean everything away by any means, but at least it did remove some of the honey-colored substance insistently clinging to his hands, and that was something at least.

“Boss says there’s a call for you,” Cole said, lifting his arm so he could point toward the office with his thumb, “Urgent, apparently. Asked me to come get you.”

Dean frowned, and for a moment he was confused, since he had no idea what kind of urgent call he could possibly get on the garage’s phone—and not even on the front desk phone, but on the line in Bobby's office—but quickly his thoughts went to Sammy, his Mom and Ben, and his heart leaped inside his chest, fear that something might have happened to one of them quickly filling his mind. His phone was on silent, tucked away inside his locker, so of course that if something was wrong, they would end up calling the garage's phone to reach him, as he wouldn’t answer his cell.

“Thanks,” he said, earning a small, sharp nod from Cole in response, before he tossed the dirty rag back onto the table and all but ran out of the room, heading to Bobby's office without as much as another glance at the other man.

Bobby was sitting on his chair behind his desk, a tall pile of papers resting on the table before him and a pen firmly gripped in his hand. His eyes were dancing over the pages in front of him as he read through them, gaze sliding over line after line of text incredibly fast, though Dean had no idea what all those papers were about. They looked like contracts, but Dean wasn't entirely sure about that, and he wasn't going to ask about it right now either.

As soon as Dean walked into the small room, though, the older man’s eyes moved away from whatever those papers were, and quickly the hand that wasn’t holding the pen reached for the landline phone, lifting it in a silent offer.

“Who is it?” Dean whispered as he grabbed the device, keeping his voice low enough so that whoever was on the other end wouldn’t be able to hear it.

Bobby simply gestured to the phone with a jerky wave of his hand, offering no other response.

Okay, then.

Confused and curious, Dean lifted the phone to press it against his ear. “Hello?”

_“Hello, sir. Is this Dean Winchester?”_ The voice he heard on the other end was female and completely unfamiliar to him, and the polite way the words were spoken had Dean frowning in confusion. This wasn’t an informal call at all, he could immediately tell, but again, he had no idea what this could possibly be about.

“Yeah, this is him,” he replied, words just a little rushed as his worry grew even stronger, “Who is this?”

_“I’m sorry to bother you at work, Mr. Winchester, but this is urgent. My name is Ava. I’m calling from Discovery Elementary School. I’m afraid there’s been an incident with your son.”_

Dean felt his heart jump inside his chest once more at the words, and his voice actually got stuck in his throat for a moment before he finally managed to croak out a panicked, “What do you mean by an incident?”

_“He’s not hurt,”_  the woman hurried to assure him, and Dean let out a breath of relief,  _“But he had a bit of a… misunderstanding with a classmate, and we haven't really managed to calm him down. He’s asking for his parents, and we couldn’t reach his mother to come pick him up.”_

Dean had no idea what kind of misunderstanding a 7-year-old could possibly have with a classmate, especially during the last day of school before summer break, but he also couldn’t bother to ask about it now. All that his mind was providing him with in that moment was that he had to go make sure his son was okay, and that he had to do it now. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

_“Good. He’s waiting for you. Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”_

“Yeah, okay.”

It was only when he’d ended the call that Dean chanced a glance over at Bobby, and suddenly he realized that he hadn’t even bothered to ask his boss if he really could get out now to go fetch Ben.

“Bobby, that was Ben's school. He had a—”

“Yeah, I heard ya, boy,” Bobby’s voice was surprisingly soft and calm, the look in his eyes warm, soothing even, “She told me where the call was from when I answered the phone. And you don’t have to ask me about this. Go, get your kid. Make sure he’s okay. You have the rest of the day off if you need to take care of him, too.”

A feeling of warmth spread all over Dean's chest at the words, and it occurred to him then just how absolutely lucky he was that his surrogate father was actually his boss. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt stabbing at his chest as he recalled all the times he’d thought about how tired he was of working here, especially as of late, because he just owed Bobby so much. The man had taken both him and Sammy under his wing so many years ago, pretty much filling the role of their father whenever their mother couldn’t do it herself, so that pretty much made Dean a very ungrateful child right now.

But he couldn’t deal with that now, so he pushed the thought away. Ben needed him, and that was his top priority right now. He would come back to this later, he decided.

“Thanks, Bobby.” He handed the phone back to the other man. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Bobby let out an annoyed huff, shaking his head almost disapprovingly at the younger man. “Don’t even start with that nonsense, boy. Now get outta here.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice.

He all but ran to the employees' room to get changed, then rushed over to the front of the store, giving Garth a brief wave as he walked through the entrance door, feeling glad that the other man was on the phone and couldn't really try to talk to him right now.

With fast, long strides, Dean made his way over to his car, shoving the key in the ignition as soon as he was seated behind the wheel and turning it hastily, causing the engine to roar to life loudly, and only a moment later he was driving off.

The drive to Ben’s school was actually a bit of a blur, and he made it there in record time, only to find himself driving into a mostly empty parking lot, a clear contrast to how this place normally looked when he drove here to drop Ben off on Monday mornings. That wasn’t a surprise, though, before of course there would only be a few cars here at this time—about two hours before lunchtime, a quick glance down at his phone told him—which all probably belonged to the staff. There shouldn’t be any parents around here during school hours.

Well, except for when the school called you to come pick up your kid because something happened.

The emptiness of the parking lot meant that Dean immediately found a very good parking spot conveniently close to the entrance, and as soon as he turned off the engine and pulled his key out of the ignition he was jumping out of the car, slamming the door shut a little too loudly and locking it before all but jogging over to the entrance, climbing up the steps that led to the main doors of the building two at a time. The woman had told him that Ben wasn’t hurt, but that did very little to soothe Dean's mind or calm down his wildly beating heart, because his son was asking for him, probably scared and crying, and Dean had to get to him as fast as he possibly could.

He found his way to the front office easily enough, as it wasn’t too far from the entrance and there was a big green sign over the door that immediately caught his attention once he was inside, so quickly enough he found himself striding into the small room, rushing over to the woman sitting behind the front desk with long, hurried steps.

“Hey, I got a call about my son like, half an hour ago,” he said before he’d even reached the desk, and the woman quickly looked up at him, looking a bit startled as she took in the sight of the breathless, clearly a bit hectic man that had just barged into the room, so he hurried to add, “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Right,” the woman nodded, understanding quickly flooding her features, and Dean recognized her voice as Ava’s. So she had been the one who’d called him. “Ben is with one of the teachers right now. She’s trying to calm him down, but… well, it’s not really working too well. He stopped crying, but he's still clearly upset.”

Dean’s heart clenched inside his chest at the words. “Where is he?” he asked.

“I’ll take him there, Ava. Thank you,” a voice sounded from the hallway behind the desk, where now stood a man wearing a clear grey suit. He stepped forward, offering a hand for Dean to shake, which the Winchester hurried to do. “Hello, Mr. Winchester. I’m Victor Henriksen, the principal of this school.”

Dean nodded, shaking the other man’s hand. “Dean. Winchester. I’m Ben’s father.”

Victor nodded. “I know.” Of course he did. Dude was the principal and all. Dean had never met him before, though. He and Lisa had come here to visit the school a couple of years back, when they had been trying to find a place they liked for Ben to study at, but a short cheery blonde had showed them around, and they hadn't seen Victor anywhere. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him.”

“Okay, yeah,” was all Dean could find in himself to say, mind still going at a thousand miles per hour, his worry making it incredibly hard for him to actually think straight or concentrate on anything that wasn’t his son’s well-being.

The man smiled soothingly at him, nodding once more, looking pretty much unfazed by how Dean was very clearly freaking out right then. Maybe he was used to that sort of thing, Dean realized. He probably had to deal with worried parents on a daily basis. “This way,” the principal announced, before he started making his way over toward the door Dean had just walked through, and the Winchester followed the man without a word, quickly falling into step right beside Victor.

They walked down the hallway in silence, the only sounds echoing around them being the one of the constant, rhythmic beat of their steps as their feet thumped against the colorful floor beneath them, and the one of the voices of the teachers coming from inside the classrooms all around them as they walked by, words muffled and pretty much unintelligible due to the closed doors.

Either that or Dean just really didn’t have the presence of mind to actually grasp what was being said. Come to think of it, that would be the most probable answer.

There were countless drawings stuck to the walls all around them—art projects, he assumed, made from a wide variety of materials—from simple things like pencils and crayons to more complicated stuff, like the ones made out of small cut out colorful pieces of paper glued to the drawings to give the works color, or the ones that used actual uncooked food, like raw pasta and rice. However, he didn’t even glance at the projects for too long, didn't pay them much attention, even if briefly it occurred to him that a few of those might be Ben's. His mind was still racing way too much for him to even care about any of that. He was so agitated that it took Dean a full minute to finally manage to ask the question that had been echoing nonstop inside his head since the moment he’d first gotten that call from Ava back at the garage.

“What happened with Ben?” he asked, “I mean, Ava back there said that there was a problem with a classmate, but what exactly happened? It’s the last day of school, and… I mean, Ben’s in  _first_  grade.”

“Well, sometimes kids, even at this age, can be… difficult to deal with.” Victor made a pause, apparently choosing his words very carefully, which only made Dean even more nervous. Was the situation really that bad that the guy had to decide on how to explain it so thoughtfully? Worry blossomed even more strongly inside Dean’s chest the more the other man's silence stretched on, but somehow he managed to remain quiet as he waited for the principal to elaborate. “I was not present in the classroom the moment the incident occurred, of course, but both his teacher and her assistant have told me what happened. Apparently, Ben’s class was having a… sit and chat moment, which is pretty much like a show and tell, but without them actually showing anything they brought to class. They just make a circle, sit down and talk about something, share stories and everything."

Dean nodded lightly in response, picturing his son sitting cross-legged on a fluffy rug, listening attentively to what the other kids had to say, hanging on to every single word curiously, just like he always did with everything, completely innocent, probably all happy and excited about sharing his own stories with everyone and legitimately curious about what the others would be telling the class.

The picture caused a stab of pain in Dean's heart, because he already knew the whole thing had not ended well.

“Well, the idea of today's talk was for them to share with the rest of the class what they wanted to do during summer break, or if they already had any plans, and at some point, Ben mentioned a trip he claims he’s going to be making with his mother and her…” Victor didn’t seem quite sure how to finish that, so he let the last part linger in the air around them, the sound of his voice dying out slowly.

“Her fiancé,” Dean replied, and it was very odd (and surprising, really) how the word didn’t bother him at all in that moment, rolling off his tongue without a beat of hesitation or as much as a wince from his part. He wondered if it was because of how worried he was feeling in that moment, because suddenly the whole wedding thing didn’t seem like such a big deal to him anymore. All he could really think about right now was Ben. “They’re all going to his—Matt’s—family ranch next week.”

The principal nodded slowly once more as they made a right turn at the end of the hallway. “Well, apparently Ms. Rosen didn’t really… think fast enough. She wasn’t sure how to deal with a situation like this, and I apologize for that, because she should have handled things differently." He made a pause, shaking his head lightly, once again looking like he was choosing his words carefully. "She asked Ben if ‘Matt’ was his father, and he said that no, his father wasn’t going, only his mother and Matt, and… well, one of the other kids made a comment that made Ben upset.”

“What did they say?” Dean noticed his voice had grown sharper all of a sudden, and quickly he reminded himself that he really shouldn’t be mad at a child. No matter what they had said, they were still a kid at the end of the day, and children normally didn’t have much of a notion of where the lines were draw with something like this. Maybe they hadn't meant to make Ben upset at all, Dean reasoned.

But that didn’t mean Dean wasn’t annoyed, or that he felt any less protective of Ben about this. What if they  _had_  meant to upset Ben? Maybe he could talk to the kid’s parents, depending on what they’d said?

He filed that possibility away for later.

“According to their teacher, Mark asked Ben why his daddy wasn’t going with them, and Ben said he didn’t know, maybe because you didn’t live with them so you never went on family trips anymore, and, well… Mark asked Ben if his daddy had left him and his mother because you got tired of him and didn’t love him anymore.”

Dean actually stopped walking at those words, feeling a wave of surprise hit him squarely on the chest, as he had definitely not expected to hear  _that._ So much for giving the kid credit and choosing to think they hadn't meant to hurt Ben, because clearly that wasn't the case here. Without a thought, his tone grew even sharper, voice rising in volume as he asked, “What kind of kid even says that?”

Victor let out a breath—a tired sigh, it looked like, shaking his head lightly, eyes growing apologetic all of a sudden. Dean almost felt bad for the dude right then, because again, he probably had to deal with this sort of stuff way too often. “We’ve been having problems with Mark for a while now. Last week he actually… kicked a little girl in the mouth during recess.” Oh, wow, wasn’t that a very pleasant kid to have around, then. “We’ve already talked to his mother about him a few times. He has a... complicated family situation, particularly with his father. His mother and Mark moved here a few months ago, and apparently the change hasn't been easy for him. He's actually one year behind, in fact. But we've scheduled another meeting with his mother this afternoon to discuss today's incident. I’m sorry for this whole thing, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean simply nodded, finding that he didn’t really have anything to say in response to that. It seemed that there was a lot more to this whole situation than a kid simply being a bully to his son, but he didn't really want to get into that subject with the principal. It was none of his business, anyway. Honestly, now that he knew about that part of the story, he wasn't sure if he should be mad at the kid or feel bad for him.

He was still leaning quite a bit more toward being mad, though.

But at least Ben wasn’t hurt, just upset. Not that that was okay at all, but… well, it wasn’t this guy’s fault, and as much as Dean felt like giving someone an earful about this whole thing, he refrained from letting his anger out on the principal. The poor guy really looked like he felt bad about this, and he still had to deal with Mark's mother later today. No need to make his day even worse.

When Dean didn't say anything in response, Victor commented, “I actually think it might have been a good thing that we couldn’t reach your…?” The man paused again, once more clearly unsure of how to continue.

“Ex-wife,” Dean clarified, once again feeling surprised by how easily the word simply jumped from his mouth. “Lisa sometimes doesn’t answer the phone during business hours, especially in the morning. She’s a yoga instructor, and she works at a studio, but pretty often she gets called to teach a class somewhere else, so sometimes it’s kinda hard to reach her when she’s working.”

Victor nodded. “Well, at least we reached you.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, nodding lightly, “How is he?”

“Upset." Victor started walking again, and Dean hurried to follow. "He started crying immediately and he wouldn’t stop. We've had a teacher trying to calm him down since then, and he did stop crying eventually, but he keeps asking for his parents nonstop.”

Dean simply nodded again, and once more silence took over the air around them. This time, though, Victor didn't try to break it, and Dean was pretty glad for it.

And fortunately, it didn’t take long for them to get to where Ben was. At some point, Victor pointed at a door to their right, and they stopped right before it, anxiety quickly pooling into Dean's belly, as he had no idea what he was about to see; what he would be dealing with next. Slowly, as though trying not to make too much noise, Victor grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, opening the door and allowing Dean to peek inside what appeared to be an empty classroom. Without a word, the principal walked into the room, motioning for Dean to do the same, and quickly the worried father followed the other man inside.

Ben was sniffing. He was sitting on one of the small chairs for students by the windows, and he wasn’t crying loudly now, but there were clear tear trails staining his cheeks. His eyes were a little too bright, too; Dean could see it even from the spot where he stood by the door of the classroom. His son’s face pretty much spelled out upset, which became even more obvious with the way the boy was currently pressing Mr. Spikes tightly to his chest, holding on to it like a lifeline, quietly listening to the woman talking to him in a gentle, calming voice, words nothing more than a soft murmur. The sight of his son clutching the toy Dean had bought for him so tightly, like he was afraid something bad might happen if he let it go, made Dean’s chest feel tighter, heavier, heart aching as though it had been carved out with a butcher knife.

“—lay eggs, but they don’t fly. Do you know any other bird that doesn’t fly, Ben?” The woman, who had apparently pulled the teacher's chair over from the front of the classroom and moved it closer to Ben so she could sit across from the boy, had an open book placed on the small desk between them. Dean could see several colorful pictures drawn on the pages, though he couldn’t see what the images were about from so far away. Animals, he guessed, considering what the woman was saying, but it could be something else entirely.

Ben simply shook his head in response, the movement weak and without any enthusiasm, even though his eyes were completely focused on the woman. And that silence, as well as the way the boy was actually hunched in on himself, as though trying to look smaller, just wasn’t like Ben at all. Dean’s heart ached even more at the sight, because that unusual behavior only made it clearer just how upset the boy still was, even though he was no longer actually crying.

The teacher lifted her hand to point at a picture on the book, and the boy’s eyes glanced down at the page before him. “That’s an ostrich. They’re very big birds with big legs and wings, but they can’t fly. Instead, you know what they do?” Ben shook his head weakly again. “They run, and they’re _really_  fast.”

Victor cleared his throat then, and finally the pair seemed to realize there were more people in the room with them.

“Daddy!” Ben got to his feet quickly, running up to where the two men were standing as fast as his little legs allowed him, and Dean hurried to crouch down so he could hug his son as soon as the boy reached him. He wrapped his arms around the boy’s smaller body, burying his nose into Ben’s hair and placing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered, feeling his chest a little lighter now that he could actually hug Ben. However, he could easily feel how his son was clinging to him a bit too tightly for it to be considered a normal hug, as though the boy was afraid his father might pull away and leave if he weakened his hold on him, which caused yet another stab of pain in Dean's heart. “Daddy’s here, okay? I’m here.”

Ben was sniffing still, Dean could hear it, and even if he just wanted to keep hugging his son forever to try and make him feel better, to somehow send everything that was making him upset away, he was aware that they still had an audience who probably had stuff to do and wanted to go back to work.

So he pulled away from Ben a little so he could meet his son's eyes, finding them even brighter than before, brand new tears clearly pooling into them now as a pout formed on the boy's lips.

Dean’s heart almost broke at the sight.

“You wanna go home?” he asked, voice low and gentle. Ben nodded in response, and Dean gently brushed his thumb against Ben’s cheeks to get rid of some of the tear trails that still stained the boy's skin. “Okay, so we’re going home now. No need to be sad anymore, okay?”

Ben paused, as if considering those words for a short moment, but soon enough he ended up nodding in response once again. His bottom lip was trembling a little, but fortunately no new tears slid down his cheeks. He lifted his arms then, a very clear silent request, and Dean immediately picked him up, holding the boy with one arm, keeping his son pressed against his side, supported by the adult’s hip while the boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck to keep himself steady, Mr. Spikes still tightly gripped in his tiny hand by one of the stegosaurus’ legs. The teacher was already standing beside them by then, and she was quick to handle Dean his son's backpack, which he grabbed with the hand that wasn’t holding Ben in place.

Dean thanked both the teacher and the principal before leaving, and once more Victor promised him that the situation would be sorted out. Dean really hoped so, but he decided not to inquire about talking to Mark's mother himself right now. If something else happened, though, then she would certainly hear from Dean.

The drive to his apartment building was filled with silence, but Dean wasn’t quite sure how to break it. Ben was usually very talkative; he always had a story to tell about his day or some cartoon he'd watched or a story his mother had told him, so the fact that he was acting this quiet was yet another telltale sign that he was still very much upset, but Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to make it better. They would have to talk about what Mark had said to him, Dean knew that, but he didn’t want to have a conversation like that in the car, so he decided to just let the silence linger for now.

Once they got to the apartment, though, Dean crouched down in front of Ben as soon as they were both inside and the front door had been closed behind them. He noticed the boy still had Mr. Spikes tightly gripped in his small hands, arms wrapped around the toy, pressing it against his chest like some sort of shield.

“So, what do you wanna do now, buddy?”

Ben simply shook his head at him.

“You still sad, Ben?” Dean asked gently, and Ben hesitated for a few seconds before nodding weakly. His eyes were no longer shining, though, so at least he wasn’t about to cry anymore. That was good. “What are you sad about? You wanna tell me about it?”

It took Ben another long, silent moment to respond, until finally he shook his head in a negative answer. The pout was suddenly back to his lips, and he moved his gaze down to stare at his feet, clearly avoiding his father's gaze.

“Ben…” Dean reached out, resting a hand on the side of his son’s arm, rubbing his thumb gently over the boy’s shoulder to try and convince him to look back up, without success. “Hey, look at me, buddy. Can you do that for me?”

Ben hesitated again, but after a moment he finally complied, and as soon as he did it, Dean could see his eyes were shining again.

Damn it.

“There’s no need to be sad, Ben. Don’t believe what Mark said to you, okay?” Dean whispered, noticing how Ben’s bottom lip was once more trembling a little. “He’s a bully, and bullies try to make other people feel bad and sad. But there’s no reason to be sad, because what he said is not true, okay?”

Ben didn’t immediately respond, but Dean was patient, and he waited in silence until finally his son lunged forward without a warning, wrapping his small arms around Dean’s neck so he could hug his father. Dean was surprised at first, completely caught off guard by such an abrupt reaction, but soon enough he realized that Ben was sniffing into his shoulder, and the adult was quick to hug the boy back tightly, kissing the top of his son’s head soothingly, wishing that he could make Ben feel better with that hug alone.

“I love you, Ben, so much,” Dean whispered, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t ever doubt that, okay? I love you.”

Ben didn’t respond; he just kept sniffing while his father held him in silence. There was no need to rush, and in a way, Dean felt like they both needed this, so the adult didn't end the moment or try to pull away, choosing to instead keep hugging his son for as long as the boy needed him to.

And when they did pull away several minutes later, the boy’s eyes were still shiny with unshed tears, but at least none of them actually fell.

To try and make his son feel better, Dean offered to take him to have lunch anywhere he wanted, and on the way back they could stop at the grocery store to buy the ingredients that Dean would need to make them some homemade pizza, which never failed to cheer Ben up.

Ben hadn’t looked nearly as enthusiastic about the plan as Dean had hoped he would, but the offers did get his son smiling again, albeit very weakly, so at least that was something.

Before they left, though, Dean sent Lisa a few texts to let her know what was going on. He didn’t even know if he should be dropping Ben off at her house now, as normally he didn’t have Ben over on Fridays this early, but he was pretty sure neither Lisa nor Matt should be home right now, so he assumed she wouldn’t mind it if Dean had Ben for the entire day today instead of only at night. Also, Lisa would get Ben for three whole weeks because of their trip, so Dean was pretty sure he was entitled to spend a few more hours than usual with his son this weekend.

**Bens school called me to pick him up, said they couldnt reach u - _Sent today at 11:27 AM_**

**Had a problem w another kid - _Sent today at 11:27 AM_**

**Im taking him out 2 eat lunch hes still a bit upset –**   _ **Sent today at 11:28 AM** _

Dean wasn't at all surprised when he didn't get a response from Lisa right away.

He took Ben out to have lunch at the small burger place a few blocks away from the apartment that he knew his son loved so much, and when the boy asked him if he could have a slice of chocolate cake for dessert, of course Dean couldn’t say no to him. He also took Ben to the park, which would normally get his son all excited and happy because he could play around with other kids and eat ice cream, but even that didn't seem to be enough to cheer the boy up. So after over half an hour of walking around with Ben quietly pouting beside him and simply shaking his head in response to everything his father suggested they could do, Dean called it a day and decided it was time to go back home.

They stopped at the grocery store on the way back to his apartment building, though, which was something Dean had never been very fond of doing. He just wasn't that much of a fan of walking aimlessly around the store looking for what he needed, and he hated that it took so freaking long to find everything. And he knew he could order everything online and have it delivered to him, but he was also not a fan of having someone choose his food at the store for him. He just didn't like the idea of it.

And maybe it was his own fault that those trips were usually endless, too, because he did have the habit of waiting until he was pretty much running out of everything so he would just need to make one trip to the store every month, but the alternative was going every week for less things and that just didn’t seem worth the effort.

Still, he normally didn’t mind it whenever he went there with Ben, because generally his son was very cheerful about going to the store. Dean would usually spend most of the time they were there focused on both watching Ben like a hawk and answering whatever questions the boy might have for him, so going to the store with his son was never really a bad time.

Today was a bit different than usual, of course, but at least Ben had stopped pouting by the time they actually walked into the store, which his father decided to take as a good sign. He’d even asked Dean to buy him a pack of cookies, which his father couldn’t say no to as well, because he certainly didn’t wish to upset Ben even more. And Dean was aware that maybe that might not be the best parenting technique, but he couldn’t risk making his son sad again. The boy was still awfully quiet most of the time, unlike all the other times he’d brought his son here. Normally, Ben would run all around the place to read everything he could, trying to figure out how to pronounce all the ingredient names he could read on the packages and picking up an unholy amount of items he would then proceed to ask his father to buy for him (many of which Dean would normally deny him, as he’d learned by now that the boy would pretty much beg for something at the store, then later on nibble on it once and never touch it again).

But today, Ben barely said a single word as they made their way through the various aisles of the store. He simply lingered very close to Dean without making a sound, holding on to his father’s hand tightly as they walked, letting the adult do all the work, simply watching silently as Dean picked out all the ingredients he would need to make the homemade pizza without offering any comments about anything around them. So of course that when the boy grabbed a pack of cookies from one of the shelves they were walking by and then proceeded to pull at Dean's sleeve, holding the item up for his father to see and asking him if he could have it in such a small, quiet voice, Dean couldn't have possibly gotten himself to say no.

They were walking a very, very thin line, and Dean couldn’t really take the risk.

Once they were back at the apartment, Dean put away everything that needed to go in the fridge, though he left the rest of the groceries on the counter, still in their shopping bags, deciding he could take them out of the bags when he used them later, so that could wait a little while.

And when that was dealt with, he helped Ben take a bath and get dressed in more comfortable clothes. It was still the middle of the afternoon, though, which meant it was way too early to make the pizza already, so they settled in the living room for a few hours—Dean on the couch and Ben on the floor, distractedly playing with his legos while cartoons played on the TV, which quickly became nothing more than background noise for both of them, because unlike what normally happened, Ben didn't seem to be paying the shows much attention. And because of that, Dean's own attention was of course focused on his son, as he found himself watching the boy silently, worry still very much insistent in his chest, especially once he noticed Ben seemed oddly distracted even while playing with his toys, not quite acting like he usually did whenever Dean got the legos out. Normally Ben would go crazy with them and build the most creative—and sometimes even impressive—structures, but today he seemed to simply be trying out random shapes, as though he didn't particularly care for what he was doing, pressing the colorful pieces together almost mindlessly.

It was very unsettling, and Dean was actually about to ask Ben if maybe he wanted something else to play with when his phone rang. Filing that thought away for now, though making a mental note to address that issue later, Dean picked his cell up from where he'd previously left it on the coffee table, and when he looked down at the screen, he realized the caller was Lisa.

“Hey,” Dean said into the phone, standing up from the couch, leaving Ben alone with his legos. The boy didn’t even seem to care about it at all, though; didn't seem to mind the fact that his father had simply gotten up and walked away from him to speak on the phone, not even glancing up as the adult took a few steps away from him, heading into the kitchen so he and Lisa could talk in private.

_“What happened?”_

Dean wasn't at all surprised by Lisa's hurried, almost sharp tone. She was worried about Ben, and she had no idea what had happened to him at school, only that there had been a problem with another kid and his father had had to pick him up because they hadn't been able to reach her, so Dean really couldn't blame her for her lack of cordiality. He knew the feeling of panic and worry Lisa must be experiencing right now all too well, as he'd gone through the exact same thing when he'd first gotten the call from the school.

“He’s fine, Lisa,” he replied, keeping his voice low enough so that Ben should not be able to hear it from the living room, “He wasn’t really crying anymore when I got there, but he was still pretty upset. He still is, actually, but he’s okay. One of the other kids in his class was being a f—” Dean halted, cutting himself off before the words 'fucking brat' could actually get out of his mouth. That wasn't exactly what had happened, he reminded himself harshly. Still, even if now he knew that Mark kid was probably just lashing out because of whatever problems he was having with his own family, Dean didn't exactly feel any less annoyed with the situation or less protective of Ben, because that didn't change the fact that Ben had no fault in any of it and that the boy was still greatly upset about the whole thing.

But maybe calling the kid a brat might be going a little too far, Dean conceded, so he just swallowed down the words still hanging from the tip of his tongue, shaking his head lightly as he took in a breath to try and calm himself down a little.

Also, even if the words he'd been about to say hadn't actually made it out of his mouth, Dean still found himself glancing over at the door that led to the rest of the apartment. _Careful with your language in front of your kid, Winchester,_ he reminded himself. He was pretty sure his son probably couldn’t hear him all the way from the living room, but he knew he still had to be mindful of what he said. He could almost see his mother’s face in his mind, shaking her head at him in disapproval more than a handful of years ago—the one time he'd accidentally hit his toe against the edge of kitchen counter and without a thought, let out a grunted ‘motherfucker’ in front of Ben, though the boy had only been a baby back then, only a few months old actually, so thankfully he had been too young to actually remember it afterwards.

Dean had been extra careful with his language since that incident, though.

“The kid said some things to Ben that made him upset,” Dean finally said.

_"What did they say?"_

Dean paused before responding, once more glancing over at the door. He swallowed drily, feeling the words get caught in his throat. He still felt angry just thinking about what that kid had said to his son, and he had to actually make another pause and take in one more slow, steadying breath before he finally managed to let anything out, though he still made sure to keep his voice low as he spoke, enough so that he was sure Ben really couldn't pick up on any of his words.

"Ben was telling his class about the trip to Matt's ranch, but he made it clear that Matt wasn't his father and that I wasn't going with you guys, and apparently some kid decided to tell Ben that maybe the reason why I'm not going on the trip and why I no longer live with you two is because I don't love him anymore."

He heard Lisa suck in a breath, clearly surprised.  _"What the hell? A kid said that?"_

"Apparently, yeah. The principal said they've been having problems with the kid for a while, though. Apparently he has a... complicated family situation, or something like that. He said he scheduled a meeting with the kid's mother this afternoon, and he promised me that the school will do everything they can to sort everything out."

Lisa huffed.  _"They better."_

Dean nodded in agreement, even though there was no one there to see it. “Of course, Ben wouldn't stop crying after the whole thing, and they tried calling you first, but they couldn't reach you, so they called me to pick him up.”

_“But how is he now? Is he okay?”_

“He’s better now. I mean, he calmed down, at least, but he's... kinda too quiet." He shook his head, letting out a slow, heavy breath as he felt part of the tension that had built up in his body this morning when he'd first gotten that call leave his muscles, but some still lingered. Why did he feel so tired already? Sure, the day had been pretty taxing, but that didn’t explain why his muscles ached so much or why his head felt so heavy. It wasn't even night yet, for fuck’s sake.

At that thought, he glanced over at the clock hanging on the wall by the fridge, noticing it was almost 6 in the evening, around the time Dean usually picked Ben up at Lisa's house on Fridays, so there was no point in asking her if she wanted to pick him up now. Still, Dean knew she probably wanted to see Ben, so he offered, "We're over at my place now, if you want to stop by to see him.”

_"Yeah, okay,_ " Lisa was quick to agree, and Dean could almost see her nodding as she spoke.  _"I still gotta go home and change, but I'll be there in like, an hour. I mean, if that's okay with you."_

"Of course it's okay, Lis," Dean hurried to say. "You wanna talk to him now?"

Lisa was very quick to reply, " _Yeah, yeah. I do.”_

“’kay, just a sec.” Dean stepped out of the kitchen, finding Ben exactly where he'd left him, still sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with his legos, and the boy didn't even look up at Dean until his father crouched down right beside him. He smiled soothingly down at Ben as the boy looked up at him, those big, curious brown eyes glued to his father's face, as though trying to figure out what he wanted. “It’s your Mom,” Dean said, offering the boy his cell phone, and Ben immediately perked up at that. He quickly grabbed the device, pressing it a little awkwardly against his ear. It looked so big in his tiny hands, he didn't even seem able to hold it firmly enough.

“Mommy?” Ben's voice made him sound so small and sad that Dean felt yet another sharp, painful tug at his heart.

He stood up then, deciding to give Ben and Lisa some privacy to talk as he made his way back over to the kitchen to get started on the pizza. And as he once again walked away from his son, Dean couldn't help but feel hopeful that maybe if he left the room, Ben might actually feel compelled to talk to his mother about what was bothering him, since he didn't seem exactly willing to talk to his father.

Dean could only hope.

In the kitchen, Dean began calmly taking the ingredients out of their bags, placing them neatly onto the counter, separating them according to the order he was going to use them in. He kept glancing back over at the door every few seconds, though, curiosity blossoming in his chest as he wondered how the conversation was going out there in the living room. He could hear nothing but the low murmur of Ben's voice, though it wasn't constant—the boy would talk for a few seconds at a time, letting out what sounded like a long string of muttered words that just tumbled out of his mouth all at once, and then he would pause, probably to listen to whatever his mother was saying to him on the other end.

The boy's voice was weak enough so that Dean couldn’t quite make out the words he was saying from the other room, which definitely wasn't a bad thing, as curious as Dean was to hear what Ben had to say about this whole thing, as that would most likely help his father understand what was going on in his head, and maybe even help him figure out a way to cheer the boy up. But somehow Dean managed to stay put, because he wasn't nosy and he should let Ben and Lisa talk and have their moment without him eavesdropping on half of their conversation. Lisa should be able to handle this on her own.

At least Dean hoped so, anyway.

It was a few minutes later when Ben walked into the kitchen, holding the phone awkwardly in his small hands, looking like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He walked over to where Dean was slowly, hesitantly almost, and his father hurried to crouch down so they could be at eye level with each other again, hoping that would encourage Ben a little and make him not look so spooked. Again, Dean wondered what exactly he and his mother had talked about.

As soon as the boy reached him, Ben offered his father the phone, and it was only then that Dean realized the boy's eyes were shining a bit.

“You okay, bud?” he asked softly, and Ben nodded lightly in response.

Dean wasn’t completely convinced, but he let it go for now. 

He let Ben have one side of the kitchen counter to himself, because he didn't want the boy to be alone in the living room while he was busy over here in the kitchen, so Dean brought him a few coloring pencils and paper so that his son could draw and be entertained while his father worked on the pizza. And once more, the boy was quiet, looking like he was doing everything completely mindlessly, but there wasn’t much more that Dean could do to try and make his son feel better, so in the end the worried father decided it would be best to just leave him be for now. All Dean could think of doing to try and make things better right now was making Ben the best homemade pizza he could, so that was what he set out to do.

Once the pizza was in the oven, they relocated back to the living room to watch some more cartoons while they waited for the food to be ready. Ben had completely abandoned the legos by then, instead choosing to continue drawing on the coffee table, and just like before, Dean simply watched him work, feeling bothered by how Ben was still acting weird. Normally the boy would be laughing at the cartoons, asking a question every five minutes and showing Dean everything he drew, telling his Dad the story he'd imagined behind the drawing and explaining why the characters were colored the way they were, but today Ben was just awfully quiet and Dean really hated that he still had no idea how to fix this.

He could only hope that Lisa would know how to do that when she got here.

It was almost time to take the pizza out of the oven when the doorbell rang. Dean walked over to the door quickly to let Lisa in, and then proceeded to watch as she began to fuss over Ben for several minutes to make sure he was fine. He stepped out of the room again to give them some privacy, walking into the kitchen to get the pizza out of the oven before it burned, and he was happy to find that he'd chosen the exact right time to do that.

However, Dean was pretty surprised when not even a full minute later, he found himself watching as Ben all but dragged Lisa into the kitchen with him to show his mother the pizza, before asking her to stay and eat dinner with them. Lisa had clearly not planned to stay long, which wasn't at all surprising, so of course the request caught both Dean and Lisa completely off guard. And as Lisa stumbled over her words, Ben's eyes quickly grew bright with tears as he stared up at her with almost begging eyes, so in the end she gave in, agreeing to eat at least a slice of pizza with them.

She ended up eating two, though. She seemed very surprised about the fact that Dean could actually cook, but then again, no one really knew about that. Dean had learned his way around a kitchen back in his teen years, because someone had to make food for Sammy whenever their Mom couldn't and Dean didn't want to bother Bobby, but he'd only known the basics. And back when he and Lisa had been married, that had still been the extent of his cooking knowledge, and he'd never really felt like he wanted to explore his cooking skills back then.

But after the divorce, Dean had started to get a bit more adventurous in the kitchen, probably because back when they'd first split up, he'd felt like he really needed a hobby, something to occupy his mind with in his spare time. He found cooking calming, soothing even, so much that it was almost surprising. And as the years passed and Dean slowly improved his skills, he found that he was pretty damn good at it, though he really didn't do it as much he would like to.

Maybe he should change that, he wondered.

During the time Lisa was there, Ben seemed to be a bit better. He was even smiling at them, silently watching as Dean and Lisa talked about nothing particularly relevant, and while the boy didn't talk much himself, he did seem a lot more cheerful, happily eating his pizza and then a couple of cookies for dessert like there was nothing wrong in the world.

And the sight of his son happier than he'd been earlier was already enough to make the slight awkwardness of having Lisa over to eat dinner with them worth it for Dean.

That was, until Lisa left and Ben’s demeanor very quickly went back to quiet and brooding. Once Dean noticed the shift, he considered asking Ben if he wanted to go home with his Mom instead of staying with his Dad, but Dean refrained from actually saying those words out loud, because considering the events of today, maybe the boy might understand that question the wrong way—he might think that Dean didn't want him here, which was definitely not the case, but Ben might not completely believe that, so in the end that question would most likely have the exact opposite effect of what Dean would have wanted to accomplish with it in the first place.

And, well, maybe Ben was just tired. The day must have been pretty much exhausting for him as well, so it would make sense if that was the case.

Dean still tried to entertain Ben for a couple more hours, though. At first, he tried watching cartoons with his son again, which unsurprisingly didn't work too well, because Ben still didn't seem all that interested in them, so they settled for playing some video games for a little while instead. Dean had hoped some father-son video game bonding time would cheer the boy up at least a little, but that also didn’t seem to do much good, so in the end they both ended up just turning in early for the night, since Ben started yawning around 9 o’clock, an hour before his usual bedtime on Fridays. And after Dean put his son to bed, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to linger around the apartment awake by himself either, so it seemed like it was time for him to go to bed as well.

And it was as Dean was getting ready for bed himself, locked away in the bathroom, taking off his clothes so he could take a well-deserved warm, relaxing shower, yet again wondering how he could be feeling so fucking tired so early, that he remembered the whole thing that had happened yesterday in that very room, the freaky incident that hadn’t let him sleep at all last night and that just this morning had been slowly eating away his sanity.

He’d been so worried about Ben that he’d actually forgotten about it.

It was actually startling how something that had gotten to him so strongly, that had so intensely messed with his head less than a whole day ago, could have just vanished from his mind like that, but then again, his worry for son’s well-being did have the tendency to overwrite anything else his brain might be working on at any moment, no matter what that might be. Also, the day had been so long and tiring that the whole thing with the internet search this morning felt like it had happened days ago, when it fact it had only been hours since he’d done it.

But now that he was thinking about whatever the fuck that whole thing in the bathroom had been again, all that paranoia from earlier, that weird feeling of being watched while he did basically everything in his apartment was back, sending weird chills down his spine every once in a while and yet again making him terribly bothered, even feeling the need to glance over his shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure there was no one there with him like he'd done this morning in the kitchen.

And of course, just as he'd done earlier, he tried to push it all away, telling himself to stop being ridiculous. There was no one here. No one was watching him in his own home, because there was no such thing as ghosts or anything of that sort. He was acting like a crazy person at this point by even entertaining that thought at all, so he should probably put a stop to it before someone actually became concerned for his sanity.

He felt like he was worrying more than enough about that one already.

However, no matter how many times he repeated all that inside his head while he showered and got ready for bed, no matter how many times he silently cursed himself for doing that damn Google search in the first place—which had definitely done the very opposite of helping him forget this whole thing—he still felt weird, uncomfortable in his own skin, and he really fucking hated it. He almost expected to see the same man from last night standing right behind him while he brushed his teeth, like a repeat of what had happened yesterday. But if that really happened again, this time Dean planned on doing something more than just stand there confusedly and ask a few questions, which had gotten responses that had in no way helped clear up the situation. He had been too shocked to actually do anything truly helpful, but he was prepared now.

But of course, that didn’t happen, just as Dean had been so vehemently telling himself would be the case. He got through his shower, then got dressed for bed and brushed his teeth without any incident, as it was to be expected by any sane person. There was no strange—and maybe a bit mentally unstable—man with him in that bathroom, or anywhere else in that apartment right now, just as there was no fucking ghost around as well, because ghosts were not a thing that actually existed in the real world. They were elements of fiction, limited to movies and books and such, so there was no freaking ghost haunting his apartment right now.

Yeah. Okay.

But if that conclusion was so obvious, such an absolutely undeniable fact, then why was it so fucking hard for him to fully believe it?

Unsurprisingly, those thoughts still lingered in the back of his head as he crawled into bed and turned off the lights, like dark shadows hanging around in the periphery of his mind, acting like constant reminders of something he so intensely wished he could forget; that he could somehow push away.

And it was when he was already lying in bed, still struggling with his own thoughts, trying to stomp down the remaining ambers of worry that were still burning in his mind so he could finally get some sleep, that a truly terrifying thought actually hit him.

Could he be putting Ben at risk by having his son over at this apartment? Because while Dean still pretty much refused to actually believe the whole ghost deal, there  _had_  been someone in here yesterday; he couldn't have imagined it. He wasn't actually that crazy, was he? So what if…?

But that just didn’t make _sense,_ because then where the hell had that dude _gone?_ He couldn’t have actually just vanished in the thin air, nor could he have simply manifested inside the apartment without leaving a single trace of how he’d gotten inside in the first place. But Dean had checked every single corner of the apartment looking for him last night, and he’d found _nothing_.

And he still had no idea what all that could actually _mean._

_"I believe I'm dead."_

Those words echoed loudly inside Dean's head, bouncing off the walls of his skull repeatedly, insistently reminding him of the one train of thought he was trying particularly hard to push into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.

No. Dean _was not_ going there again.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Dean punched his pillow a couple of times and turned over on the bed, once more cursing himself in his head. There was no one else here, and there was no reason for him to worry about Ben’s safety in his own home. He was being paranoid again and he knew it, so for what felt like the thousandth time since last night, he tried to push those thoughts away so he could finally get some much needed rest; tried to force his mind to just fucking shut up and let him get some shut-eye, because he truly was exhausted, and he wasn’t sure he could actually get through another day without getting any sleep.

Still, he found that once more he couldn’t quite forget about that whole thing, and he only actually managed to soothe his mind a little bit once he got up and went to check if all the doors and windows were properly locked one more time.

And once he was back in bed, it still took a while, but he was feeling so terribly tired, so truly worn out from all the events of the exhaustingly long day he'd had added to a night of zero rest, that somehow, after what must have been about an hour of rolling back and forth on the mattress, he actually did manage to fall asleep.

***~*~*~*~***

Dean woke up with a jolt, quickly sitting up on the bed, heart jumping inside his chest as a loud bang abruptly pulled him from unconsciousness. Startled, he blinked at the darkened room around him, confused and disoriented, unsure of what the hell had just happened. All he knew for sure was that something had definitely woken him up, but he had no idea what that had been. He reached to the side, heart suddenly pounding in his chest as he turned on the lights in the room, blinking even more as his eyes adjusted to the shift as brightness suddenly washed over everything around him, only to find that the door of the closet a few feet away from the bed was wide open now, and he was really freaking sure that it hadn’t been that way when he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

He frowned at the sight for a moment, now even more confused, as his brain did not seem quite able to process what he should be doing right now, or even how to interpret what he was looking at. It seemed like the loud bang had been caused by the closet door being pushed open abruptly with a lot more force than necessary and hitting the wall to the side, which just didn’t make any sense at all, because that meant the door must have been pushed by something. It couldn’t have just moved on its own. But then how could it have—

Dean jumped on the bed once more, throwing the sheets aside and quickly springing into action without another thought as the actual meaning of what might have just happened truly registered in his sleep-addled brain. Entire body tense, Dean threw his legs over the edge of the bed, getting to his feet as fast as he could just as the lights flashed twice, the same way they had done last night when that dude had appeared in his bathroom, which only added to his panic. The single thought of the incident was enough to send a chill down Dean’s spine.

He’d been thinking about this before falling asleep, about how maybe he should feel worried about having Ben spend the night here, when Dean still had no fucking idea what had really happened in that bathroom. Maybe he shouldn't have even brought Ben over to the apartment at all without figuring out what that whole thing had been about first or who that man really was. He truly was putting his son at risk, he realized with a wave of dread, and that thought alone was enough to send him running for the door of his room, crossing the hallway in three big strides before he finally found himself barging into his son’s room to make sure that Ben was okay.

And instantly, he realized something was wrong.

Ben was crying, that much was obvious, even if Dean couldn't really see anything inside the room because the lights were off. But he could hear it—the low sobs and sniffs that were clearly coming from the direction of the bed, and those could only mean one thing.

“Ben,” Dean breathed out as he dropped to his knees beside the boy’s bed, “Hey, buddy, what happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He lifted his hand, pawing at the wall to the side looking for the switch he knew was there, until finally he managed to turn on the lights. And once he did, after his vision adjusted to the sudden brightness of the room around him, Dean was met with the sight of his son’s face—the boy's skin was stained with tears, his eyes red and puffy, a bit of snot sliding down from his nose.

The sight of it was heartbreaking.

“Ben, hey, I’m here.” He reached out, pulling the covers off of the boy, prompting him to sit up so that Dean could look his son over and make sure the boy wasn’t hurt. “What happened, Ben? Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

“Why you aren't going, Daddy?” Ben’s question was muttered, his voice weak, low, nothing more than a feeble whisper that his father barely even heard.

Dean frowned at Ben, confused. The question was definitely not something he’d expected to hear, so of course he was completely caught off guard by it, his worry-plagued mind unable to come up with a better response than a tentative, “What?”

“You’re not going with us. It’s—” Ben hiccupped, choking up a little, his voice clearly failing for a moment, but soon enough he managed to speak again in the same weak tone from before, “Mommy said it’s a family trip, but you’re not… you’re not going. I asked her, and she said you couldn’t go. Why do you can’t go, Daddy?”

Dean's confusion melted away pretty quickly as the meaning of what Ben was saying actually sunk in, and each word felt like a sharp stab to his heart. He was actually so taken aback by what he'd just heard that he was rendered completely quiet for a moment, finding himself speechless, unsure of how to deal with this. He swallowed drily as he tried to come up with an answer, but his mind was giving him nothing but a blank card as he stared into his son’s pleading, shining eyes.

So this wasn’t about the crazy, random dude that had apparently simply materialized inside Dean’s apartment. This was still about what that Mark kid had said to Ben earlier today.

“Ben…” Dean started, but paused when he realized he had no idea what the hell he could say in response to that. How could you possibly explain to your 7-year-old son that you were not going on a family trip with your ex-wife and her fiancé to her fiancé’s family ranch because, well, people just didn’t do that? Because things would just be awkward as hell? How could you make him understand that this whole thing wasn’t at all about him?

And it wasn’t like Dean could throw this on Matt either, because that just wouldn’t be fair at all. Sure, Dean didn’t like the guy, but he shouldn’t try to turn Ben against him. That would be too low, not to mention petty, and Dean just wasn’t that person, so he couldn’t tell Ben that he wasn’t going on the trip because Matt wouldn’t want him there or because Dean didn’t like the guy. He wouldn’t do that, as unhappy as Dean was about this whole thing, because he just wasn’t that person.

“I wish I could go, Ben,” he finally said, voice low, matching his son’s own tone, just a gentle, careful whisper, “I wish I could go and watch you have fun with all the animals. I wish I could spend time with you at the ranch and that we could wander around the place and have fun together. But I can’t go, buddy.”

“Why not?” Ben was pouting again, and his eyes were still way shinier than Dean would have been happy with. “I could ask them if you can go. They won’t mind. I’ll let you sleep in my room.”

Hearing the actually begging tone that so clearly coated every single syllable his son let out hurt a lot more than Dean could have imagined a single set of words ever could.

He shook his head again, voice growing even softer as he said, “Ben, it’s not that easy. I know… I know you don’t understand it right now, but… This is a family trip, yes, but for you and your mother, and Matt. You’re… it’s kind of like, you’re getting used to, you know, being a…” He swallowed, struggling to let the last word out, “A family.”

Fuck, he hated the sound of that word right now; hated that he was actually helping Ben think of Matt as his family when in truth that was the last thing Dean wanted, but he knew he couldn’t fight this. It was reality—Lisa had chosen Matt to become part of their family, so Matt would be Ben’s stepfather, no matter how much Dean hated it, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about that.

“But you’re family too,” Ben argued weakly.

“Yeah, but…” Dean let out a breath, once more struggling to find the right words to say. He really was terrible at this, he realized. Maybe he should have planned to have this conversation with Ben earlier, but the boy had never actually questioned their family dynamics up until now, so Dean had never really thought he would have to do it. If anything, he’d just assumed Lisa would be the one Ben would question, not him.

But then again, maybe Ben had been too young to question it before, or maybe he just hadn’t really thought about this before today. Dean had no way to know.

Finally, Dean settled for a weak, “It’s complicated, Ben. You’re… you’ll get it when you’re older.”

Ben didn’t seem happy at all with the answer, which wasn’t exactly surprising. His son didn’t seem very fond of the ‘you’re too young to understand it’ card whenever Dean had to use it. “I don’t like it. I want you to go. I want you to live with us again, so you and Mommy and Matt can stay with me all the time and we can all live in the same house. We have another room. Mommy calls it the guest room but you can sleep there.” The boy's lower lip trembled again, and he looked even closer to tears now, even sniffing again a few times before he finally let out, “Why you don’t live with us anymore, Daddy?”

Dean swallowed drily at the words, feeling each of them like a punch right to his chest, hammering over his heart, and he let out another tired breath. Why was this so hard? It just hurt so much to hear his son pleading with him like this while not being able to do anything to make it better, and he hated every single second of it.

“Sometimes people just don’t work… living together. Sometimes they get married, but after a while, they end up realizing that… that it’s best if they live in different places. That they’re not… good at being married. That’s what happened with me and your Mom.”

Ben paused, seeming to mull the words over for a beat. His eyes were still shiny, but at least no new tears actually slid down his cheeks, so Dean was led to assume that he might be dealing with this well enough, if he was at least managing to keep Ben from crying even more; if he'd managed to make the boy stop sobbing and sniffing as he'd been doing when his father had first walked into the room.

However, Dean had certainly not expected to hear the question that followed.

“Do you love Mommy, Daddy?”

Dean took a beat to respond to that, because again, Ben was only seven. He couldn’t actually explain to the boy how love worked, and it wasn’t like Dean really got it himself, either, because honestly, he’d never actually been in love in his life. He loved his family—his mother, Sammy, Ben, Bobby, Charlie, Ellen, Jo—but of course, that was completely different.

Still, he realized that he did not need to stray too far from the truth to give his son somewhat of a good answer. Actually, he didn’t really need to stray at all.

“I do,” he replied honestly, “But when two people get married, they… it’s a different kind of love. It’s what your mother has with Matt now.” At least Dean hoped so, anyway, and wow, wasn’t that a weird thought to have. “It’s complicated, I know, but you’ll get it later. What you should know and never, ever forget is that I do care about your mother a lot, but above all, I love you, Ben, so much. Please, don’t ever doubt that.”

The answer seemed to render Ben completely quiet, and Dean had no idea what could be going on inside the boy's head right then, as he had no idea how a seven-year-old kid’s mind would even actually process something like this, but he still waited patiently, remaining completely silent throughout the moment that followed. Honestly, he was just glad to find that Ben’s eyes were no longer shining.

The next question Ben asked was also a surprise, though.

“Are you gonna get married too, Daddy?”

Dean paused, swallowing drily yet again. The question shouldn’t have weighed so heavily in his chest; shouldn’t have felt like such a strong, piercing punch to the stomach, but it did, and Dean actually had to cover up how much it bothered him or how it caught him completely off guard so that Ben wouldn’t notice his reaction. His son didn’t really know what he was asking, couldn’t even imagine what a delicate topic this was for his father to even think about. To Ben, that really was nothing more than an innocent, curious question.

“Not right now, or anytime soon, but… maybe someday, yeah,” Dean somehow forced the words out of his mouth, even if the answer didn’t feel completely honest. He wasn’t sure of anything at this point, but then again, he couldn’t actually explain any of it to his son. And maybe getting Ben prepared for something of that sort in advance might be good, too; might make it easier, somehow, even if there was probably no point to it. “Would you be sad if that happened, Ben?”

Ben paused again, apparently thinking the question over, considering it somehow. His eyebrows even furrowed together at some point, but just like before, Dean waited patiently for a response.

“I wish you and Mommy were married,” the boy finally announced.

Once more, the words hurt like a knife digging right into Dean’s chest, and he paused as he struggled to find something to say in response; anything that would make Ben feel better or that would lead the conversation in a lighter, easier direction somehow.

But he couldn’t think of anything, which wasn’t exactly surprising.

“I know, bud, I know.” He nodded softly, lifting a hand to run through his son’s hair, tucking a few stray strands away from where they'd fallen over the boy's eyes. “But things sometimes just… don’t work out the way we want them to, and that’s okay.”

Again, Ben didn’t seem very happy with the answer, but Dean spoke again before he could say anything in response.

“Now, what do you say we go get you cleaned up so that you can try to get some sleep? You think you can do that?”

Dean was very relieved when Ben accepted the end of the conversation without discussion, simply nodding lightly in response without another word.

And so Dean herded Ben into the bathroom—glancing around a couple of times to make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary inside the room—where he cleaned the boy’s face, getting rid of all the snot that still clung to his son’s skin, before leading the boy back to his room and tucking him in for the second time that night.

“I love you, Ben,” Dean whispered as he pulled the covers over Ben, before leaning down, planting a soft, light kiss onto the boy’s forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” Ben whispered in response.

Dean smiled at his son, feeling warmth bloom in his chest at the words. He hesitated in his spot for a moment, wondering if maybe there was something else he could say now that would soothe his son’s worries even more, something that might stomp down whatever doubts might still linger in the boy’s mind even after their conversation earlier, but he found that he could think of nothing right then. His mind felt heavy, thoughts a bit sluggish from exhaustion, so maybe his lack of helpful words was understandable.

“Night, Ben,” he said simply, before he finally made himself walk over to the door. And without another word, he turned off the lights and left the room, closing the door softly behind himself. He would have suggested leaving it open tonight, just so Dean might hear it if his son started crying again in the middle of the night, but he knew Ben hated to have that door open at night—it scared him, it seemed—so he didn’t even bother to voice the idea.

And as soon as he was back in his own bedroom, Dean was instantly reminded of what had woken him up in the first place. The closet door was still wide open, just as it had been fifteen minutes ago when he’d jumped right out of bed, and for a long moment he just stood there, in the middle of the room, staring at it as he struggled to try and figure out how this had happened in the first place.

That annoying little voice in the back of his head was once again making itself known, of course—the same one he had been trying so fucking hard to ignore since last night. And as much as he fucking wished to push it away again, to just shove it to the back of his head where it could stay locked away forever, he found that it wasn’t as easy as it had been before to just label the particular train of thought it insisted on bringing to the forefront of his mind as completely ridiculous and delusional right now, not when he was staring at that door, now resting completely open as the memory of the loud, abrupt thud of it hitting the wall and waking him up replayed on a loop inside his head.

It was almost like something had opened it so loudly to try and wake him up, to warn him that Ben was crying, but that  _couldn’t have fucking happened._

This whole thing was maddening. It didn’t make  _sense._  Fuck, this stuff wasn’t fucking  _real._ He couldn’t… He just…

He was going insane. That had to be it.

But what if…? Fuck, what if…?

“Where the hell are you?” he whispered into the room before he could stop himself, before he could actually think about what he was doing. “Come on! If you’re really here, then fucking show yourself right now.”

He felt utterly ridiculous during the seconds that followed, just standing there, eyeing everything around him like he expected someone to jump out of his closet or materialize right in front of him or something, and he became more and more aware of how truly mental he must look like with every second that passed, especially when, of course— _of fucking course—_ he got no response, not even some flashing of the fucking lights to make him feel better, or less crazy, at least.

_Fuck._  He really was losing it.

Shaking his head and cursing himself silently, Dean ran his hand through his hair as he walked over to the closet, peeking inside to make sure there was no one actually in there, but the fact that he saw nothing out of the ordinary inside of it did very little to soothe his mind, and he found that he couldn’t quite get his body to relax. He realized then that maybe he should have checked that earlier, but he had been so worried about Ben that it hadn’t even occurred to him to peek inside the closet to make sure it was empty when the thing had simply burst open out of nowhere. All that had truly mattered in that moment had been making sure that his son was safe.

And there was no changing that now; no way to know if there had been someone in there when that door had first been pushed open, so with a heavy, tired sigh, Dean closed the door shut again, silently hoping it would stay that way now.

He had to figure out what was going on. There was something wrong here, something weird that he hadn't yet found a way to fucking explain or understand, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this whole thing.

Too bad he had no fucking idea how to do that.

Of course, he checked the entire apartment once more before going back to bed, peeking into every single crevice and corner of the place that could possibly fit a human being, even tiptoeing back into Ben’s room to give everything one last once over (and fortunately he did manage to do that without waking the boy up, which only made it clearer just how tired his son really was), but just like all the other times Dean had done that during the past couple of days, he found absolutely nothing out of place.

So after he was done, he ended up reluctantly retreating back to his room to try and sleep again, though it was no surprise that the hours that followed were filled with nothing more than a couple of fitful, restless hours of sleep.

***~*~*~*~***

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, boy?”

Dean froze in his spot, steps halting just as he was about to walk into the employees' room at the garage on Monday morning. He turned around, only to find Bobby standing right outside of his office, arms crossed over his chest. The look in his eyes was a little stormier than usual, face carrying an expression that was pretty much the opposite of happy, a change that most people might not even be able to notice because Bobby looked grumpy pretty much all the time, but Dean knew him well enough to see the difference.

He frowned in confusion at the sight. “Why?”

“You look just about to topple over,” the older man pointed out, “How are you even standing upright right now?”

“Bobby, I’m fine,” Dean replied automatically, giving his boss a weak, half-hearted shrug, even though he knew exactly where those comments were coming from.

He looked truly terrible right now, and he was very much aware of it, but then again, how else was he supposed to look like after the weekend he’d had?

He took Ben out on Saturday to try to cheer the boy up yet again—they went out to have lunch together, then went to the park, until finally they headed to the Roadhouse in the evening so that Ellen and Jo could fuss over the boy and spoil him with food for hours. And of course, they ended up having dinner there as well and staying around until a bit later than Dean had originally planned, but the smile that had been painted on Ben’s face while he received Ellen and Jo’s attention, or while he ate his burger and fries, or while he devoured a slice of pecan pie for dessert, a smile that had still been very clearly present on the boy’s features during the ride home, had definitely been worth it.

And then on Sunday Sam had demanded that they came over and spent the day over at his place, claiming that the last time he’d seen Ben had been the day they’d all gone to the museum together and that he wouldn’t see his nephew again for at least three weeks, so he’d very much like to have Ben and Dean over for a few hours, a request that Dean had happily responded positively to, hoping that it would also help make his son happier. By then Ben did seem to be in a much better mood than he'd been in the previous days, so Dean was very hopeful about it.

So Dean headed over to Sam’s right after lunch, and for about an hour, Ben enjoyed all the attention. He seemed very happy to see his uncle and soon-to-be-official-aunt, and even more thrilled when Mary stopped by as well so she could also see her grandson before he went off on that trip. Soon enough, though  just like it always happened whenever Dean took him over to Sam’s place, the boy had proceeded to spend the next several hours playing with Bones, chasing the energetic golden retriever around the house and tossing him stuff to catch, which had been quite a heartwarming sight to see. In the end, Ben had apparently had a lot of fun, which, again, just made it all worth it in Dean’s head. It was like there was nothing wrong, nothing bothering Ben and making him upset at all.

Things did feel a little awkward while they’d been there, though.

The thing was—Dean was barely getting any sleep. After the whole thing with the closet door on Friday, his nights had become a true nightmare of constantly worrying about his son's safety in that apartment combined with own his paranoia, something that now seemed to constantly plague his mind, brought on by that weird, annoying feeling that he was being watched all the time, which was even more intense now, for obvious reasons. This past weekend, he’d turned over and punched his pillow to try and get more comfortable on his bed more times than he would have thought humanly possible in one night.

Also, apart from Lisa, of course, Dean hadn't told anyone about the whole thing that had happened with Ben at school. He just felt like he’d had enough about that particular subject already, so he really didn’t feel like reliving the whole story yet again by having to retell it one more time. Honestly, if he could, he’d really like to just move past the incident and be done with it for good; just forget the whole thing even happened. And maybe he would have been able to do that, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d found Ben crying in the middle of the night because of what had happened, as well as for the conversation that had followed.

Truth be told, Dean couldn’t really get that conversation out of his head. Every time he recalled his son’s words, every time he remembered the sight of Ben’s eyes shining with unshed tears as he told his father that he wished their family was, well, _normal,_ that Dean and Lisa were married and that things could be less complicated, every time he thought about how Ben had looked so happy when Lisa had been over at the apartment because both his parents were talking and eating dinner together, but after his mother had left Ben had been so upset about it that he’d literally started crying on his own in his room, Dean felt like his heart was being torn right out of his chest.

And it hurt so much to think that he had no way to fix the situation. He really, _really_ wished there was something, _anything_ that he could do that would make things better, but there truly was nothing. He and Lisa would never have worked out, even if they’d tried to remain married for longer. Their marriage had been doomed from the start, and that had been pretty obvious since the very beginning, but somehow they’d actually managed to stay married for two whole years before they’d had no other option but to call it quits.

But in the end, their divorce had been inevitable, and there was no changing that.

However, Ben was way too young to understand that, much less accept it. And of course the knowledge that this situation was making his son suffer, that it made him sad and wish for things to be different would get to Dean so deeply. He just couldn’t possibly manage to ignore the worry that had blossomed in his chest and settled over his heart; couldn't stop thinking about how this situation was affecting Ben now, as well as how it would probably end up affecting him even more in the future.

And that thought truly terrified him, because if there was anyone who knew just how much a divorce could fuck up a kid's life, it was Dean. He just hated himself for putting his own son through something that had caused both himself and his brother so much suffering when they'd been young. And okay, the two cases didn't even compare, and he knew that, but that didn't make the whole situation any less crappy.

And Dean could only assume both his tiredness and his worry must be pretty obvious, because while they had been over at Sam’s house, it wasn’t hard to tell that everyone knew something was up. Many times throughout the day, it really had seemed like someone would say something, inquire about what was very clearly bothering Dean, or maybe even why he looked so tired. But fortunately, no one actually said anything, though Dean assumed he should thank Ben for that. They might have asked Dean about it if his son hadn’t been there, running around the house and popping up in the living room from to time to time completely unpredictably.

Either that or they just knew trying to get Dean to talk wouldn’t get them anywhere.

So of course that, with his constant worry for Ben’s safety, his paranoia and his consequent lack of sleep all added up to his frustration with the whole family situation dilemma, Dean was completely exhausted today, but it wasn't like he could just skip work. He would already be missing the morning shift tomorrow, and he hadn't even talked to Bobby about missing the first couple of hours or so of his shift on Wednesday morning yet so he could say goodbye to Ben before he, Lisa and Matt left for that trip, so Dean really didn't want to push it.

Bobby grunted, rolling his eyes at Dean, his silent, wordless way of calling bullshit. "Clearly," he mumbled, "Now, do me a favor. Go home and try to get some sleep in you, would ya?"

"What?" Dean's frown deepened even more, "Bobby, I can’t—”

“Well, I _am_ your boss, so I’m assuming that means you can.”

Dean was very much taken aback by the tone of Bobby’s voice—it wasn’t exactly sharp, but there was something hard about his words, something that had Dean frowning even more deeply in confusion, because that just wasn’t usual for Bobby. He'd showed up to work tired before, even hangover a couple of times, and his boss had never had such a strong reaction to it. There was something up here, something wrong, but Dean had no idea what that was, or what could have brought this whole thing on.

His confusion and surprise both must have showed very clearly on his face, because in the next moment, Bobby seemed to deflate a little, some of his confident, annoyed front melting away in a second, giving place to something a lot softer, which only confused Dean even more. Finally, his boss sighed, shaking his head lightly at the younger man as he explained, “Sam called me.”

Dean bit back a curse at those words, his confusion quickly melting away and giving place to a wave of annoyance. Of course Sam had called Bobby. _Of course._ That explained a lot, actually.

"Bobby, whatever he told you—"

"He did it because he's worried about you, you idjit," Bobby cut him off before he could finish, and the once again surprisingly shaper tone of the older man’s voice instantly rendered Dean completely quiet. "He told me you were over at his place yesterday and that you looked way too tired, like you hadn’t slept in a week, but he can't quite figure out what's wrong with you because you just won't talk about it, which sounds about right to me. You ain’t really a talker when it comes to anything that’s bothering ya."

Dean sighed, shaking his head weakly, even though he already knew this was a lost argument. "Bobby, there's no reason to worry about me."

Bobby huffed, shaking his head at Dean yet again, and just like before the look in his eyes changed without a warning, though this time his annoyance quickly faded away to give place to something heavier—sad and tired, it looked like, which had Dean frowning in confusion once more. "Dean, you're like a son to me, you know that. Of course I worry about you."

Dean was surprised by those words, mostly because he hadn't expected Bobby to say something like that right now. It wasn't like he'd never said it before, but he definitely didn't say it often. That was something that would always just go unspoken between them, because just like Dean, Bobby wasn't one for emotional talks and chick flicks, so the fact that Bobby was bringing it up so openly now had to mean that he really was worried about Dean.

"You're unhappy," Bobby continued once he seemed to realize that Dean wouldn't say anything in response, "And there's something going on in that noggin of yours that you don't really wanna talk about, and that's fine. You got your problems, and you're old enough to deal with them, but you can't just shut everyone out like this and not expect people to worry."

Dean breathed out a tired sigh. He got what Bobby meant, he really did, but none of the things bothering him right now were really something he wanted—or even could, really—talk about. He didn’t really feel like involving anyone else in the issues he was having with Ben, and he also didn’t want people to think he was crazy because of the whole freaky situation going on in his apartment.

He really couldn’t talk about any of it, so in the end, he found himself shaking his head weakly. “Bobby, this isn’t—”

“This ain’t about Lisa. Yeah, I heard it the first hundred times you said it.”

Dean closed his mouth shut at that, falling silent once more.

Bobby sighed, taking the few steps that separated them so he could rest a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “But there is something bothering you, bouncing around that thick skull of yours and keeping you awake at night. And I know you pretty damn well, which means I have no hope in getting you to talk about it, so I’m doing what I _can_ do to get ya idjit to take care of yourself.” He squeezed Dean’s shoulder, the look in his eyes growing even warmer, softer as a small smile formed on his lips. Dean wasn't sure what to make of it. "Now, you'll go home and get some rest, so tomorrow morning you can help fix your brother's wedding, and on Wednesday you'll go say goodbye to your son before he leaves for that trip. Understood?"

For a second, Dean thought about asking Bobby how he even knew that Dean wanted to go say goodbye to Ben before work on Wednesday, but then he realized Sam must have mentioned it, so he didn’t ask.

Dean still wanted to argue, of course, and the words even formed on his lips, mouth opening slightly and shaping itself around the first syllable for only a second, before he found himself closing it shut again, shoulders sagging in defeat with a relenting sigh as he realized he couldn’t quite get the words out. Truth be told, he actually felt too tired to put up a fight about this, so all he ended up doing was nodding weakly in response, feeling some of the tension in his muscles melting away as he gave in, accepting Bobby’s words without question.

So he did what he was told and left the garage, trudging back over to the entrance and muttering a weak goodbye to Garth as he walked past the man sitting at the front desk, who called after Dean once he realized the Winchester was leaving, but Dean didn’t bother to give him a detailed explanation, instead simply grunting out a low, “Home. Not feeling well.” He didn’t even wait to hear Garth’s response, walking out of the building and toward his car without a single glance behind.

As he drove away from the garage and toward his apartment, though, a thought occurred to him, which actually changed his mind about going straight home, so instead, a few minutes later he found himself pulling into the parking lot of convenience store. He’d never needed to take anything to help him sleep before, and he certainly didn’t want to take any sort of medicine to help him rest, but he remembered Sam mentioning a few times that whenever he had trouble sleeping because of stress, he would have some sort of herbal tea or whatever that would get him down pretty fast, and Dean was so desperate that he was actually willing to give it a shot.

However, he didn’t want to call or text Sam to ask him about kinds of tea, because fuck no, so he had to look up a few names to figure out what teas were supposed to make him sleepy, but soon enough he found himself leaving the store with three different types of tea to try, hoping that at least one of those would work.

He got back to his apartment pretty quickly after that, and he went straight for the kitchen once he was inside, eyeing everything around him carefully as he walked past the living room, making sure everything was exactly how he’d left it. He worked quickly once he was in the kitchen, heating up some water and preparing a mug of the tea he’d chosen to try first—chamomile, because the name was familiar to him and he was pretty sure he remembered Sam mentioning it a few times, so it was the one he was most hopeful about actually having the desired effect on him.

He carried his mug of tea to the living room once it was done, deciding to watch some TV while he waited to see if the chamomile would actually work. He flipped through the channels for a while until he landed on _Moana,_ and he decided to leave it on that because he kinda really liked that movie.

Yeah, he was a sucker for Disney movies—animations, specifically.

Shut up.

He was done with his tea pretty quickly, so he abandoned the now empty mug on the coffee table and waited. But as the minutes passed and nothing happened, he started to believe the tea wouldn’t work, because he still didn’t feel like he could actually fall asleep. Still, he tried to get as comfortable as he could on the couch as he watched Moana and Maui fight a giant singing crab, lying down fully and adjusting a cushion under his head to use as a pillow.

He knew that if he slept now, in the middle of the morning, his sleeping schedule would be thrown off a little, but he didn’t really care. He was too tired to worry about that. He really just wanted to sleep.

More minutes passed, and finally,  _finally,_ Dean’s eyelids started to grow heavy, the sounds coming from the television gradually becoming nothing more than background noise as his mind grew more and more foggy, and surprisingly, Dean found that he didn’t really have the strength to fight any of it. He couldn’t even remember why he hadn't managed to fall asleep the past few nights in the first place.

And against all odds, he was so tired that in the end, once his exhaustion was added up to the calming effects of the tea, Dean actually did manage to fall sleep.

***~*~*~*~***

“Dean?”

Dean woke up slowly, pulled back to consciousness by the sound of an unknown voice calling his name. The word sounded muddled, however, distant, and he really wished he could ignore it, just roll over and go back to the peaceful calmness of slumber, but whoever was trying to get his attention was insistent, repeating his name over and over again until Dean finally grunted in response, signaling that he was awake, which should hopefully get whoever was bothering him to stop talking and let him wake up at his own pace, thank you very much.

He brought a hand up to rub at his eyes, trying to send the drowsiness of sleep away and force his mind to properly awaken, but he found his thoughts lethargic, his head heavy, muscles aching for no apparent reason. And fuck, why was his neck hurting so much? He must have slept with it in an odd angle or something, because it really felt like his muscles were about to rip back there.

Groaning, Dean opened his eyes, finding the room around him dark, illuminated by nothing more than the weak light coming from the television, which he vaguely remembered turning on earlier while he’d been drinking his tea. The living room was way darker than it should be, though, and Dean frowned as he realized that fact, wondering why it looked like it was night outside at this time of the day. Had the sun set already? Fuck, how long had he been asleep for?

… And who the hell had been calling his name?

That question hit Dean like a freight train, abruptly sending away any remaining fogginess that might still linger in his brain after having just woken up, and in a second, his mind was fully alert. He sat up quickly and without a thought, and then jumped in surprise only a moment later when he found himself staring up at the exact same pair of blue eyes that had been haunting him for days now.

“What the _fuck?!”_

The man was standing over Dean, body bent forward slightly and right hand raised in the air, as though he'd been about to try to shake Dean awake. He was wearing the exact same clothes he’d been dressed in on Thursday—the same ugly trench coat, the same neatly, expensive tailored suit, the same polished blacks shoes and same backwards deep blue tie—which could mean that he either wore those clothes way too often or that he hadn't even changed since then, and the second possibility was very, _very_ concerning for obvious reasons. But Dean shoved his confusion about that topic aside for now because really, the dude's possibly awful taste in coats and apparent lack of variety in clothing was definitely not the main problem about this whole thing.

No, Dean was a little more worried about the fact that the man was _back;_ that he was _here,_ right _now._

And the dude was just staring at him, frowning at Dean like he wasn’t sure what to make of what he was seeing. The man looked just as lost as he had back in the bathroom, as though he was confused about what he was doing there himself, which didn’t even make sense. He actually looked surprised, eyes so wide he almost looked like an owl. It was like he hadn’t expected Dean to actually wake up—or to even see him at all, his mind treacherously provided, and once more Dean was reminded of the thought that still seemed oddly insistent in his head, no matter how many times he told himself how ridiculous and truly insane it was to even consider it.

He pushed it away quickly.

The guy did recover from his surprise a lot more quickly than he did last time, though. Suddenly, he stood up a little straighter, although he was still clearly tense and awkward, like he wasn't sure what he should be doing or how he should be acting, until finally he cleared his throat. “I... I apologize. I wasn’t sure if I should try to wake you,” he said, and Dean wondered how he hadn’t noticed how deep the dude’s voice was before. It was like a low, deep rumble that sounded so rough Dean briefly caught himself wondering if it hurt his throat to even speak at all.

Which was also really not something he should be focusing on right now.

No, he had something much more important to address in that moment.

Only he couldn't really find the right words to do it. It was like Dean was still way too shocked and startled to find the man here once again to actually know how he should be reacting to this; like his brain seemed to be having trouble actually processing what was happening. But then again, that was probably pretty understandable, so it really should be no surprise at all that all he managed to let out right then was a weak, breathed out, “You’re back."

The man blinked at Dean, confused, like he hadn't been expecting the comment at all, or like he couldn't understand where it had come from. “I was not..." He shook his head, apparently changing his mind about whatever he'd been about to say. "You’ve been asleep for twelve hours, so I was… a bit concerned.”

The words took a beat to sink in, and when they finally did, Dean found himself shaking his head in disbelief at the man. Those words made it sound like that dude had been here for those twelve hours, or else there was no way for him to know how long Dean had been asleep for, and wasn’t that just an awesome thing to think about. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?”

Yet again, the man looked confused, frowning at Dean for a moment, like he wasn’t sure how to reply to that, until finally he announced, "I'm unsure what exactly you're referring to."

“Why are you here?” Dean demanded, “Why the fuck did you come _back?”_

“I never left,” he said simply, “I told you. I believe I’m—”

“Dead. Yeah, I heard ya the first time.” Dean shook his head again, letting his frustration spill fully into his voice as he spoke. “Listen, pal, I don’t know what game you’re playing, or how you’re getting in and out without leaving a trace or damaging any of the locks, but really, I need you to just fucking stop what—”

“I’m not getting… ‘in and out’,” the man stated, and Dean could actually hear the damn air quotes as he spoke, which would be pretty funny if the situation was any different. This guy actually looked a little quirky and Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that, but then again, that really wasn’t something he should even be thinking about right now. There were issues that deserved his attention a lot more. “I haven’t left at all. You just… haven’t been able to see me.”

“Okay, dude, that’s not possible. You're not—”

“Your name is Dean. You normally do not leave this apartment if you can help it, except for when you need to work, although I have not yet been able to figure out your job. You also go out sometimes on the weekends, when you take your son somewhere. His name is Ben, and you have him over every weekend. Last Friday a woman, who from what I understood is his mother, was over because Ben had a problem at school with a bully and she came to check on him. You made them pizza, and she stayed for a bit to eat with you two. You also watch way too much television and have a… mildly concerning obsession with pie. You seem to buy at least one every week.”

Dean was rendered completely quiet after that speech, staring at the man with wide, shocked eyes, because there hadn't been one single inaccurate fact in what he'd just heard, and that was actually really fucking terrifying.

But how was that even  _possible?_ That dude couldn't have been here all that time. He just... He couldn't have...

This didn't make any  _sense._

“So what, you’ve been fucking spying on me?” Dean stood up from the couch, raising his voice as he watched the man take a few steps back in surprise and flinch at his dry, sharp tone. “You sick motherf—”

“I haven’t been watching you on purpose," the man cut him off in a surprisingly calm tone, though his hands were raised in front of his chest and his body was stiff, stance obviously cautious all of a sudden. "I don't really control what I see or hear, and I have no other choice but to be here. I’m… stuck, for the time being.”

“Stuck?” For a moment, the word had no meaning in Dean’s head; didn't quite register in his mind, and he scoffed, shaking his head at the man once again. Seriously, what kind of game was he playing? This whole thing was only getting Dean even more annoyed by the second. At that thought, he took a step closer to the man, and even though this time the dude didn’t step back, he didn't lower his hands either, stance still very clearly cautious and defensive. “Okay, I'm running out of patience really fucking fast, so I’m only gonna ask this one last time. What  _the hell_  are you doing here?”

The man actually let out a huff, as if he had any right to be frustrated with anything. He was the one invading Dean’s privacy and his home, so why the hell should he be frustrated with anything?

“You don’t get it. I’m—”

"No, you're not!" Dean exclaimed, which made the man flinch in surprise one more time. At the sight, Dean paused, then let out a frustrated breath himself. He knew exactly what the guy had been trying to say and he just didn't want to hear it again. This whole story was seriously getting ridiculous at this point. “Dude, quit it with the fucking dead man talk. You’re not a fucking ghost. Now, who are you?”

The man opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He paused, closing his mouth shut again and swallowing, then shaking his head and letting out a breath as his eyes slipped closed. His hands fell to hang limply at his sides.

“I—I don’t know.”

Dean wanted to huff at him again, to demand more answers, but the way the man’s voice actually broke at the end of that, as well as the way his eyes looked when he opened them again—wider, more pleading somehow—had Dean pausing. Once more the Winchester caught himself wondering if the guy was really lost, maybe even mental like he’d thought before. Maybe he really needed help.

How was Dean supposed to deal with this, though? Should he try to call someone? Probably, he reasoned.

He decided not to do it just yet, though, as he was afraid of the reaction that might get out of the dude. He had acted completely harmless up until now, but Dean had close to no doubts that his mostly docile behavior might change in the blink of an eye if he suddenly realized that Dean might be intending to call someone to take him away. Maybe Dean could get him to sit down on the couch, offer him a glass of water or something, and then when he found himself alone in another room and the guy wasn’t looking, Dean could reach for his phone and call for help.

Yeah, that sounded like a better idea.

“I’ve been… in three places before this apartment,” the man continued, apparently completely oblivious to where Dean’s mind was at right now, which was probably a good thing. “First a house, and then some kind of… antique store, I believe, then another house. And then I was here. Anywhere I go, nobody can ever see or hear me, no matter how much I scream. And I can’t ever leave the places, either. It’s like there’s a boundary that keeps me trapped inside that I can’t cross, an invisible wall of some sort. That is also the case here. I can't leave this apartment. And no matter how much I try, I just can’t…” He looked down, and Dean saw his throat bobbing a bit as he swallowed. The man seemed to struggle with whatever he was trying to let out for a moment, until finally he admitted in a low, pained whisper, “I don’t even remember my name.”

Dean wanted to press for more, to demand more answers, to tell this guy to quit fucking around because he was already tired of this fucking game, but there was something about the clear waver in his voice that threw Dean off. One thing was clear, and that was that this man actually believed what he was saying, no matter how insane it was.

Yeah, Dean really should call for help, because clearly this dude needed it.

Slowly, Dean lifted his hands, stepping forward once again, though this time doing his best to not seem threatening in any way, as if approaching a wounded, frightened animal, which in his head seemed like a very valid analogy in that moment. He remembered his train of thought from earlier, about finding an excuse to leave the room so he could call for help, and as gently as he could manage, he said, “Buddy, I’m… Listen, why don’t you just sit down and I... I'll go get you a glass of water so you can calm down, and then we can figure this out, okay? Maybe you have…amnesia or something.”

The man looked even more frustrated to hear that. “I don’t have amnesia. Or, I mean, at least that's not...” He swallowed again, shaking his head in annoyance, letting out what looked like a frustrated sigh. “You don’t believe me.”

Dean swallowed nervously, not actually saying anything out loud, though he figured his silence was answer enough.

“Touch me.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Excuse me?”

The man rolled his eyes at Dean, apparently annoyed with the other man's clear hesitation to do what he'd been told, which just like before, the Winchester found completely uncalled for. This guy really was insane, wasn’t he? “I need to prove to you that I’m being truthful. I haven’t been able to touch anything or anyone. Everything simply goes through me.” He took a step forward so that they were standing only a few inches away from each other, and it took all of Dean's willpower not to flinch or step back. But he didn't, and instead he simply watched as the man lifted his arm so it hung in the air right in front of Dean, within reach. “See for yourself.”

Dean frowned at the other man, because was he actually serious about this? The determination in the guy’s eyes was a little unsettling, the certainty that he was right unwavering and making Dean all the more worried for his sanity. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this? This guy was clearly out of his mind.

Well, maybe the first step would be proving him wrong. If Dean did what the man had asked of him and proved that the dude wasn’t dead, and that instead he was simply being very delusional and acting completely crazy; if this nutjob finally realized that he wasn’t actually a ghost, then maybe Dean might be able to coax something out of him, like a name or where he had come from, maybe even a phone number that Dean could call to get someone to come get him and lock him up again wherever it was that this lunatic had somehow escaped from.

Baby steps, Dean decided, lifting his hand carefully, hand open and ready to grasp the man’s wrist.

Only that didn’t happen, because his hand was met with nothing as it moved through the air. He felt the air colder than normal as it brushed against his skin for only a moment, the sight of his hand actually  _going through_ the other man’s arm making his heart jump in his chest, and in a second, he pulled his hand back, the movement quick and abrupt, as if he'd been burned.

Dean had seen it happen, and it  _had_ happened, _right before his own fucking eyes,_  and yet he couldn’t process it, couldn’t accept it, couldn't fucking  _believe it._ He was frozen for a moment, eyes wide as his mind struggled to deal with this, but he just  _couldn't_ wrap his head around what he'd just witnessed, so of course he lifted his hand again, expecting a different result but getting the exact same one—the arm that was very clearly part of the man standing right before him was as solid as smoke as Dean's hand easily went through it, as if it was made of nothing more than empty air.

It took a while for Dean to actually be able to do anything. He was frozen for what must have been minutes, unable to find his voice or even make his brain function properly so that he could speak again, but finally it actually sunk in that he should be having a reaction to this, that he should be doing  _something._ So he lifted his wide eyes back to the man’s face, finding him watching Dean with a raised eyebrow, which was obviously part of the clear ‘I told you so’ look that had taken over his features at some point.

“You—you’re… You can’t…”

This fucking shit wasn’t even  _real._

“I assume you believe me now.”

Shaking his head, Dean moved his hand up even higher so that he could run it through his hair. The room was suddenly spinning around him and he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to just pass out right then and there. It certainly felt like that would be happening soon. “I need to fucking sit down.”

The man—the  _ghost_ , his mind corrected him, and he flinched as the word echoed inside his skull—didn’t say anything as Dean took a couple of steps back and lowered himself back onto the couch, falling heavily onto the cushions with a huff. He didn't try to step closer either, thankfully. Dean needed the distance.

With his head in his hands, Dean took a few deep breaths, rubbing his palms against his face as he did so, as if he still needed to wake up a bit more, and he would be lying if he said that part of him wasn't hoping that he might still be asleep and that this was actually a dream, because it sure as hell felt like it. Maybe if he closed his eyes for long enough the guy would disappear again, like it had happened last time when Dean had glanced away from him back in the bathroom. And if that was the case, then Dean could pretend this never happened, that it was all in his head, and that there wasn’t a freaking ghost haunting his damn apartment, or that said ghost wasn't standing _right in front of him, right now_.

So Dean decided to give that idea a shot, keeping his hands over his face for a moment, taking slow, calming breaths as he counted the time. What he assumed must have been over a minute passed, and by then the room around him was still completely silent, so he started to get hopeful that maybe the guy wasn’t there with him anymore. But he couldn’t find it in himself to check, deciding to just avoid eye contact for as long as he could to make sure the man would be gone once he did look back up.

“I apologize.”

Damn it.

Letting out a breath, Dean made himself lift his head and open his eyes, and of course, the fucking dude was still there.

For fuck’s sake.

“This isn’t real,” he decided, shaking his head vehemently, as though somehow he might be able to send the entire situation away by doing it; to make it all just melt away right before his eyes. “I mean, this shit doesn’t happen. I'm... I have to be dreaming or something. Ghosts don’t exist, for fuck’s sake.”

The man looked unsure about what to say in response to that at first, remaining silent for a beat as he apparently struggled with his next words, as if suddenly he felt like he should be careful with what he said. It was like their roles had been reversed at some point, like instead of Dean being worried about scaring the potentially crazy man in his apartment, the supposed ghost was now the one worrying about spooking  _Dean_ _,_ which for some reason only made it all even worse.

Finally, the man settled for, “I don't think I can convince you that you are not dreaming, although I assure you this is real. And I'm afraid I also can't agree with you that ghosts don't exist, seeing that, well,” He lifted his arms almost sheepishly, gesturing at himself with his hands, “I’m here.”

“Okay, yeah, I can see that. Thanks.” Dean shook his head again, unable to keep a hint of harshness from mingling in with his words as he let them out. He wanted to lash out, wanted to try to do something to see if he would wake up, like pulling at his hair or punching something, because he still desperately wished to find out that this was all a dream, that he was still asleep on that couch and that this was all part of some sort of freaky nightmare brought on by that stupid Google search, but part of him didn't quite believe that, which was all kinds of terrifying.

Because the craziest, most fucking _insane_ part of this whole thing was that it didn't  _feel_ like a dream. This felt real, and he was still struggling to wrap his mind around what that meant. And if this was truly real, if this was actually happening and the man standing right in front of him was in fact a ghost, then that would explain  _everything._

And at the same time, it wound bring so many questions to light that it made Dean's head spin. Fuck, what the hell was he supposed to do then? How was he even supposed to deal with something like this? How did people even... Fuck, what was he supposed to  _do?_

“Why are you even here, though?" The words jumped from his tongue before he could think them through, because he had do to something, and apparently talking to a supposed ghost and figuring out the situation was the only thing he could actually get himself to do right now. His mind felt oddly numb, and maybe he should be worried about that, but he couldn't really bring himself to be. Maybe he really was in shock, he reasoned. "I mean, there’s plenty of freaking houses out there to haunt, so why the hell did you pick mine?” Something kept reminding him that maybe he shouldn’t be this rude or sharp with something that might not even be human and that could potentially hurt him, but surprisingly, he wasn’t scared. This dude had acted completely harmless up until now, so Dean wasn't exactly worried about the guy suddenly attacking him or something.

Also, the man couldn't even touch Dean at all, so what kind of harm could he even do, really?

“I’m not here because I want to be, if that’s what you're assuming.” The man sounded annoyed as he said it, his voice growing even lower, which was a bit of a surprise. Dean hadn't thought that to be possible at all, and yet again he wondered if it hurt for the guy to talk like that. “I didn't 'pick' your apartment. I don’t choose where I go or how long I stay there. All I know is that it’s apparently temporary.”

Oh, well, that was definitely a good thing, because that meant this guy would get the hell out of here at some point; that he would stop hanging around invisible in Dean's apartment and fucking with his head.

One part of that still bothered Dean, though.

“Wait, so what, you just appear in random places, stay there for a while and then disappear?” The man nodded lightly in response. “And you don’t even control when you leave?" The man shook his head, and Dean let out a breath in annoyance. “Awesome. That’s just great, really.”

The guy actually looked apologetic at that, and that was the only reason why Dean stopped venting and didn't go on with the list of complaints he had about that little detail.

The man shook his head lightly, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know this is unusual—”

Dean snorted, “Understatement of the year, buddy.”

The ghost—and there was that damn fucking word again—actually glared at him, annoyed. “I have no say in this. Like I've said, I can’t leave this apartment or any other place I show up at. It’s like I’m trapped. And I really don’t control when I leave either, so I don’t know when I’ll be gone from here. I don’t even remember why—” The man's voice had been strong up until then, sharp even, but as soon as the last part began to leave his mouth the words lost strength, breaking at the end as he paused, taking in a breath, as if suddenly he needed to steady himself.

He didn’t finish what he'd been about to say, but Dean got it anyway, and for some reason he felt horrible because of it. Because even if Dean was still struggling to believe the whole ghost thing, the anguished look in the guy's eyes set a weight in his chest that he wasn’t sure how to deal with, because if this was actually real, apparently this man couldn’t even remember who he was or how he had freaking  _died._  How the hell does someone even deal with something like that?

Dean wasn’t happy about this. Honestly, he had no idea how the fuck he should even be feeling about it or how he should react. The ghost part of this whole thing was still pretty hard to accept, and he definitely hadn't wrapped his head around it at all just yet, but at least by now it felt like he had gotten past the initial completely disbelieving phase. Either that or he was just so shocked and lost on how to deal with this that his brain had just decided not to question anything else for now, instead choosing to simply go with it until Dean finally woke up from this freaky dream or something.

Part of him was still hanging on to the thought of this not being real, it seemed.

“How long did you stay at the other places?” Dean decided to ask, once again finding it easier to try and rationalize everything somehow, as crazy as that sounded. He felt like he had more control over the situation that way, even though that didn't make much sense and was in no way actually true. “I mean, you said there were three others.”

“I’m not sure. But it wasn’t long. The longest was at the antique store, I believe. I must have stayed there for weeks, or at least that's what it felt like, but then again, I don't... I don't really remember the house I was at before that. Everything is fuzzy, muddled in a way, when I try to think about it. Sometimes I'm here, and sometimes I'm just... not. It's hard to keep track of time properly because of it, and at first it was really disorienting. All I can remember from the first house I appeared at is that there was a... a woman there, and a dog, but nothing else of relevance comes to mind, so I have no idea how long I actually stayed there before I showed up at the store. I do remember the last house better, though. There was also a dog there, but a different dog, and a young couple. But I believe I only stayed there for a few days, so I didn't gather much about them. That was the last place I was at, before I… before I showed up here, and again, I’m unsure why my location changed. I have no idea why it happens every time, and there's no warning, either. Suddenly I come to and I'm just... somewhere completely different.”

That whole speech rendered Dean completely quiet for a moment as he thought about what his next words should be. He wanted to be angry and annoyed with this man; he really did. He wanted to lash out and just tell him to fuck off and disappear from this apartment, but the weirdest part of this whole thing was that Dean didn't feel like he could blame the guy for everything that was happening. The man looked so sad and lost while talking about everything, especially about how no one could see or hear him anywhere he popped up, that it actually made Dean feel a bit like a jerk for being so harsh with him earlier. The poor guy was lost and very possibly dead, so the least Dean could do was not be a dick to him about it.

“And how long have you been… well, here?” Dean inquired, talking slowly and carefully, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. Part of him thought it was ridiculous that he was talking to the guy at all, that he was acting as if he'd accepted the situation, which definitely did not mean anything good about his sanity. But if this wasn't real, no harm would come from talking to the ghost his mind had made up in a dream. And if it was real, well, what else was he supposed to do other than try to understand the situation better? “I only saw you for the first time last Thursday, but I… I read up on some stuff, and they talked about ghosts causing wiring issues and cold spots. The lights have been flickering randomly for a while, and sometimes the temperature just drops out of nowhere, too. I’m assuming you're the reason for all of that, and that’s been going on for at least a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t know for sure how long I've been here,” the ghost replied, “At least a few weeks, I believe, but it was only… up until recently that you could actually see me. And those effects… I’m not sure why, but I do seem to interfere with the electricity of the places I’m confined to, and people have complained about cold drafts very often when I’m around.”

Well, who would have thought—it looked like some of those blogs did know what they were talking about, after all. Also, that meant that the wiring in the apartment and the air conditioning really didn’t need to be fixed, so that was a good thing to know.

“And what about Friday?” Dean inquired, even though he had a feeling he knew the answer to that question already, “The closet door. Was that…?”

The ghost nodded lightly. “Your son was crying. I… I heard him sobbing from outside, so I tried calling out to you, tried to wake you up, but obviously I couldn't shake you awake and you couldn’t hear me. I’m still not sure how this works, how I can actually… control being visible, and I can't do it right most of the time, or at least not for long. And I couldn’t manage to wake you, so I…" He shrugged lightly, almost sheepishly, "I tried something else.”

Dean nodded numbly at that. That incident had freaked him out greatly, so much that he'd even lost sleep over it, but in that moment, staring up at the person who'd caused all that paranoia and stress, Dean actually felt a bit of gratidute, which was a really weird thing to feel toward the ghost haunting his apartment. But honestly, how could he feel anything else right then? If it hadn't been for this man, Dean wouldn't have even known Ben had been upset and crying in his room, so in a way, Dean actually owed the guy for trying to warn him about it.

"Thank you," he found himself saying before he could really think it through, "For waking me up, I mean. Ben... he needed me there."

The man simply nodded in response.

The air around them shifted then, growing heavier all of a sudden, awkward even, and Dean didn't really want to look very closely into what that could possibly mean. He didn't really know what else to say on that topic, either, or if he should even say anything at all, so in the end he decided it would be best to just change the focus of the conversation back to all the questions that were still piling up inside his head.

"You said you don't really control what you see or hear," he commented, "But you're invisible most of the time. You're just... hanging around here, and you knew all those things about me. So do you really...? I mean, what do you even...?"

"I don't actually watch you, Dean. I'm just... here, and you're here too, so of course I hear some things, like phone calls and conversations. But I don't actually watch you doing anything, nor do I follow you around all the time. I try to stay out here in the living room or in the kitchen for the most part, so I don't actually invade your privacy in any way, though a few times I have wandered further into the apartment to try to call your attention, to see if you could see or hear me, like I did in the bathroom, but I only went there when I heard you were brushing your teeth. I don't watch you shower or change, if that's what you're worried about."

Dean nodded again. He knew it was kinda silly to be worried about what a freaking ghost might be watching him do, but learning that the dude might not be following him around was actually a relief, even though Dean knew he would still feel a bit weird about doing both of those things now that he knew there was truly a ghost lingering around invisible in the apartment. The guy really did seem genuine when he said that he wasn't creeping on Dean, but then again, Dean had no way to know how truthful he was being about that, and he wasn't sure how much of that he could actually trust, so Dean was pretty sure at least a bit of his paranoia would still linger in the back of his head while this dude was still around.

But there was no point in insisting on that subject now, so instead he found himself saying, "But you can kind of control the invisible thing, can't you? I mean, if you couldn't manage it at all before, but you can do it now, you must be getting better at it, at least."

The ghost nodded lightly. "It's not... easy at all for me yet, but I do believe I might be beginning to understand how it works, at least a little bit."

Nodding weakly once again, Dean let out a breath as he brought up a hand to rub against his eyes like he'd done before. The craziness of the situation finally seemed to be dawning on him now, weighing down on his shoulders, making his head feel heavy and his thoughts a bit fuzzy, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. He almost wanted to ask the guy to not try to be visible anymore; to just stay invisible all the time so that Dean could pretend there wasn't anyone else in that apartment; so that he could go on with his life normally until the ghost changed locations again and went away for good, because that way Dean could try to forget this whole thing had even happened at all.

But for some reason, he couldn't actually get the words out of his mouth. He remembered how he'd felt like a jerk earlier for being so harsh with the dude, a feeling that was even stronger now that he knew the man had actually warned him about Ben, and because of that, he couldn't get himself to make that request. This whole ghost thing seemed awfully lonely and distressing, and Dean couldn't even imagine how terrible it all must feel, or how relieved the guy must have been when Dean had first seen him back in that bathroom. He remembered the look of pure surprise and relief in the man's face way too clearly, how his voice had been filled with something very close awe. Dean was the first person this man had managed to talk to at all in what must have been months, so what kind of dick would he be to take that away from him like that?

Still, there was something Dean wanted to ask of him that he felt like he could actually let out, so after a pause, he lifted his head to look back up at the ghost.

"But if you could just—" The words died on his tongue once he realized the man was no longer standing in front of him. He glanced around the living room, frowning, but he found that there was no sign of the guy anywhere, as though he'd simply disappeared in the thin air again, exactly as he'd done back in the bathroom on Thursday.

So he really hadn't learned how to control it yet, then.

"... not move anything around, that'd be great." He wasn't sure if the guy was still around, but Dean found himself finishing his previous thought anyway, just in case the ghost was simply invisible and could still hear him.

He got no response, of course, and after over a minute, Dean let out another sigh, letting himself sag back against the couch now that the conversation was over. His mind was racing, his thoughts weirdly foggy as he replayed what had just happened inside his head, trying to actually process it.

Again, he had no idea how he should be feeling about this. Should he be trying to do something? Call someone? No, they'd just think he was crazy, and he definitely didn't want to deal with that. But then what the hell could he do? Should he try to find a way to send the ghost away, or should he just wait until he went away on his own? The dude didn't seem violent and he wasn't actually making Dean's life hard, so maybe Dean didn't have much of a choice except for waiting until the ghost simply disappeared at some point. But how long would that take?

He kind of wanted to believe this wasn't real, he really did, but for some reason he couldn't actually fully convince himself that this was a dream, and had no idea what to make of that.

As that thought occurred to him, though, he found himself slowly lifting his hand and grabbing a bit of skin from his arm, pinching it between the tips of two of his fingers, strongly enough for it to hurt, so much that he actually hissed in pain, but nothing changed. He didn't suddenly wake up with a jolt on the couch; his surroundings didn't suddenly dissolve right before his eyes. And he wasn't sure if the pinching thing actually worked, but he still took that as confirmation of what deep down he already knew.

This was real. This was actually fucking real.

"Fuck," he muttered, shaking his head to himself in disbelief before letting it fall to rest on his hands. He pulled a bit at his hair, finding the pain grounding, but it didn't make him feel much better or any less insane.

How the hell was this his  _life?_

He'd never been a believer. He knew his Mom was into that sort of stuff, and he remembered how when he'd been little she would always tell him that angels were watching over him, but Dean just had never been the one to actually believe in anything otherworldly or supernatural actually existing out there, religion related or not.

So it wasn't hard to understand how this was suddenly causing nothing but chaos in his mind. This had turned everything he'd believed in throughout his entire life upside down.

This suddenly changed  _everything._

And he had no fucking idea how to deal with that.

He just sat on that couch for a while, not really finding the will to move. While the guy had been here he'd been fine, calm even, but now that Dean was alone and everything was truly sinking in, he felt like he was suffocating. His head was spinning, the air he breathed in feeling far too thin in his lungs, and suddenly he was afraid he might actually pass out. Fuck, he didn't know what to  _think._

That actually went on for a while, until finally Dean made a decision. He couldn't stay in this apartment right now. He needed air. He needed to just fucking... get away from the situation or something, to clear his head before he actually had a breakdown.

Keeping that thought in the forefront of his mind, he forced himself to get back to his feet, then marched over to the front door, grabbing his car keys on the way. He forgot his cell phone in his haste, though, but he realized it just as he stepped out the door, so he went back in quickly to fetch it from the coffee table before all but running back out the door without a single glance behind.

He needed to distract himself; to do something  _normal_ and that got his mind off of this whole ghost deal. He had no idea where he was going or what he would be doing as he got into the Impala and drove away from his apartment building—briefly taking notice that yep, it was indeed nighttime—but he didn't really care, instead choosing to simply take comfort in the fact that the ghost was trapped back there inside the apartment and had no way to follow him.

He drove around aimlessly for a while as he thought about where he could go, and for a few minutes, he considered calling Sam to suggest going out and grabbing dinner together. He ended up dropping that idea soon after, though, because he just didn't want to take the risk of having Sam question Dean's intention of going out tonight, asking what had prompted him to just suddenly call and invite his brother to go eat dinner with him, or why he looked like he'd just seen a ghost.

Because Dean couldn't tell his brother that  _that_ was  _exactly_ the reason.

And that was why Dean decided against calling anyone else he knew, as well as why he chose not to head over to Benny's or the Roadhouse either. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was to deal with curious, probing questions and be the subject of way too many worried (and sometimes pity-filled) looks. He really didn't want to deal with any of that.

So instead, in the end, Dean found himself heading to a bar, one in the other side of town, far away enough that he was sure he shouldn't run into anyone he knew, because there was one thing he was absolutely certain of.

He would definitely need something a lot stronger than chamomile to fall asleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Cas doesn't remember anything, huh? I wonder what his backstory is... ;) ;)
> 
> The lyrics featured in this chapter come from the song _On My Own_ by Ashes Remain. I do not own them.
> 
> The boy at Ben's school is actually based on a real person, just in case you're wondering if maybe he might be a little too mean for his age, though minus the complicated family background (at least as far as I know, anyway). The real one was actually even younger, and I, of course, changed his name here. He never said anything quite so mean to anyone as far as I know, but I do remember a few kids crying because of him. Also, I was the little girl who got kicked in the mouth during recess. I was playing around in kindergarten, crouched down on the ground, playing with the other kids and pretending to be Bulbasaur, when it happened, completely out of nowhere.
> 
> Yeah. Anyway.
> 
> Discovery Elementary School is indeed a real school in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. As it turns out, there are apparently 23 Elementary schools there, and I chose the one I liked the most based on the ratings and pictures that I found on Google. I have never been there myself, though, and I obviously made my own changes to it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know, it's been a while. XD I took a little break from posting this story so that I could plan out everything a bit better, and now I have a pretty solid outline of the entire thing, so hopefully now I can go back to writing and posting a bit more frequently. ;D I'm really sorry for the super long wait, but I hope you all enjoy this chapter nonetheless! ;)

_“I paced around for hours on empty,_

_I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”_

***~*~*~*~***

“So, what do you say? Chocolate or cherry?”

“Huh?”

Jess frowned at Dean, tilting her head a little to the side as she regarded him carefully, though he wasn’t sure how to read her expression right then, had no idea what to make of it exactly. She didn’t look mad or annoyed to realize that he hadn’t been paying attention to what she’d been saying; she seemed simply confused and curious—and maybe a little worried, too. And yet, even if there was no actual sharpness in her eyes, the man couldn’t help but shift a little on his chair, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable under that intense, measuring stare. He felt the urge to look away from her, and so he let his gaze fall to the table between them.

“Dean, are you okay?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied quickly, then took a bite from whatever it was that he was still holding in his hand but had completely forgotten about until now, just so he would be busy chewing and wouldn’t have to speak any more right away. He didn’t even know what it was that he’d been grasping in his hand for however long he’d just spaced out for, but as soon as he sunk his teeth into the pastry carefully cradled in his fingers, he winced at the way too strong, overly sweet taste that immediately attacked his taste buds. “What even is in these things?” he questioned, eyeing the treat like it had personally offended him. The inside of it was dark brown, and some of the filling was quickly slipping out from where he’d bitten into the dough.

The thing was cute, though, he had to admit it—it was like an incredibly small cupcake, so tiny and different from anything he’d ever seen before, complete with a tiny little frosting bow placed on top of it, which was kind of adorable.

But it was still way too sweet, and he clicked his tongue a few times at the strong taste that still very insistently clung to the inside of his mouth. He very much regretted having taken such a big bite of the pastry now. He’d really eaten half of the thing in one go, and that had been a truly terrible decision.

“That’s the chocolate one,” Jess offered, eyes softening just barely in what Dean assumed was sympathy, “You know, the one I’m not really happy with, and that I was complaining about because I think it's too sweet.”

Judging by Jess' tone, Dean could only assume that he was supposed to know all of that already, which could only mean that Jess must have already mentioned those facts to him at least once today—or maybe even more than once, really, since there was a clear hint of impatience in her voice now.

At those thoughts, Dean nodded, though he was careful not to move his head too hastily in an attempt not to bring back the pain from earlier. His hangover was finally giving him a break, it seemed, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He hadn't exactly forgotten the stabbing pain and constant throbbing he’d been subjected to as soon as he’d woken up this morning, with sunlight washing over his eyes as it slipped into the Impala. He really didn’t want a repeat of that.

He swallowed again, still trying to get rid of the absurdly strong sweetness that currently coated his entire fucking mouth, though that did very little to help. Could he get some water, maybe? “Right,” he finally replied, even if none of what Jess had just said to him really rang a bell, “Yeah. It is too sweet, I agree. I don’t like it.” He placed the miniature cupcake back onto the table. “What’s the other option again?”

 _“Cherries,_ Dean.” Jess actually sounded annoyed now, but still picked up another mini cupcake—one that Dean assumed to have cherry filling instead of chocolate—and silently offered it to him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Dean carefully took the treat from her, giving Jess a sheepish smile and a weak shrug before he took a considerably smaller bite out of the new mini cupcake. He chewed slowly, testing out the flavor as the taste of cherry slowly overcame the lingering hint of chocolate on his tongue, and quickly enough he was nodding his head—very, _very_ slowly, of course. “Yeah, this is way better. The chocolate one is way too sweet. Everyone’s just gonna have one and give up on it.”

Jess nodded, apparently agreeing with his answer, though she still eyed him suspiciously for another moment before finally giving up on trying to find whatever it was that she seemed to be looking for on his face and glancing down, writing something down on the small notebook she had brought with her—probably a note about the cupcakes, he guessed—and Dean felt his body sag a little in his chair once her attention wasn’t focused on him anymore.

It really wasn’t his fault that he was so distracted today, so distant. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about all of this, like he didn't want to help fix his brother’s wedding. Of course he cared, and any other day, under any other circumstances, Dean would have been thrilled to be here, eating fancy treats for free and actually taking some weight off of Sam’s shoulders by helping with the wedding, by doing something for Sam that his brilliant little brother definitely didn’t have the time to do himself right now.

But the thing was—Dean couldn’t quite get himself to fully focus on whether he liked cherries or chocolate more, couldn’t process all the different flavors, shapes and colors of pastries that were being paraded in front of his face for about an hour now. No, his mind was several miles away from that bakery, still focused on everything that had happened the night before back at his apartment, still dwelling on something he had never before thought that he would ever have to deal with in his life. Honestly, he was pretty sure he was entitled to be a little distracted today, considering that last night he had found out there was an _actual fucking ghost_ living in his apartment with him.

At least he’d gotten some sleep last night, thanks to the impressive amount of alcohol he’d consumed at that bar. He hadn’t even gone home, actually, because he’d certainly been in no state to drive, and when he’d been done with his binge drinking, apparently some part of his incoherent drunken mind had decided he didn’t want to call a cab either. Perhaps somewhere deep, deep in his mind, even under the influence of a truly unholy amount of alcohol, some part of him had still been lucid enough to realize that he didn’t want to go back to his apartment. 

So that morning, Dean had woken up to a terrible hangover and to sunlight hitting him right on the face. He’d apparently spent the night curled up in the backseat of the Impala, his jacket folded up into a ball and serving as a pillow under his head, his car still parked right outside the bar. He didn’t even remember stumbling out of the bar, but then again, he couldn’t really recall much of anything from last night, since everything had become pretty fuzzy and weird after the seventh shot of whiskey, so the holes in his memory weren’t exactly a surprise. His back had ached terribly as he’d stretched himself awake, wincing at the brightness of the sunlight as it continued to assault his eyes, pouring easily into the Impala through the clear car windows, but he’d soon decided that sleeping in his car might have been worth all the pain and lack of comfort, considering he didn’t have to deal with the whole ghost situation first thing in the morning.

But he had to go home to shower and change, because he couldn’t just go meet Jess at the bakery in that state—smelling like a distillery, hair a complete mess, clothes all rumpled from sleeping in his car and with a killer hangover that only made what he’d been up to last night even more obvious. So keeping that thought in the forefront of his mind, he’d forced himself to drive home, and the entire car ride had been a real fucking bitch to get through with such a bad hangover, but he’d gotten to his building in one piece and without incident, and that’s what really mattered.

And if he’d been uncomfortable in his own apartment before, he felt about a thousand times worse in that place now. That feeling of being watched was a lot stronger than it had been before, making itself known as soon as he’d walked through the front door, because now he knew for sure that there might actually be someone there, standing unseen in the shadows, just _watching_  Dean without him knowing about it. Going out and drinking himself stupid last night had made him forget about this whole thing for a little while, but once he was sober again and back home, everything that had happened in that apartment the previous night hit him like a fucking freight train. He couldn't run from this forever, couldn't ignore it until it went away, as much as he wished he could.

He’d tried to shake that uneasy feeling off, though, telling himself not to think too much about any of that for now. He didn't have the time to deal with the ghost situation that morning, considering he had somewhere to be, and he'd already been running a bit late by that point. And since he had the thing with Jess at the bakery in the morning and work in the afternoon, Dean wouldn’t have to be back to his apartment until tonight, so there really had been no use in freaking out about everything then. He just had to stay calm and get through the hour it would take for him to take a shower, get dressed and eat something extra greasy to help with his fucking hangover, and then he would be off and away from that place for the next ten hours or so.

Still, even as he'd hung on to that thought and finally managed to make his feet move again; no matter how many times he’d repeated that plan over and over inside his head; no matter how simple and easy all of that sounded in the safety of his own mind, he'd quickly found it was pretty much impossible to just brush that uncomfortable feeling off as he’d walked further into the apartment and headed to the bathroom.

He’d taken a shower and thrown on some clothes in record time, though not without glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he was really alone, even if now he knew that the fact that he couldn’t actually see anyone in the room with him didn’t exactly mean that there _wasn’t_ anyone there. And okay, sure, the ghost _had_ told him that he didn’t have the habit of being a creep and watching the mechanic shower and change, but Dean didn’t actually know the dude, so he wasn’t sure if he could really trust that.

It really was a wonder that he’d actually managed to get dressed properly and without putting anything on backwards, honestly, because he certainly wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing.

And Dean was very much aware that all that paranoia might sound like a bit too much, but really, who wouldn’t be freaking the fuck out in his place? There was a ghost literally _sharing his home,_ who also happened to be invisible most of the time, and Dean had no freaking idea why the guy was here or when he would go away. There was just no such thing as overreacting or growing too paranoid in this case. Honestly, having any sort of calmer or more mild reaction than the one Dean was having right now would be worrying, not the other way around.

His mind was still replaying the scene from yesterday in an endless loop, still clinging to the sight of his hand actually _going through_ the man standing right before him, as if that really was a thing that happened in real life, as if that wasn’t supposed to be something strictly limited to movies and television. Again, Dean had never believed in any of this stuff. True, he was a fan of things that featured some pretty unrealistic settings and scenarios, such as  _Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings_  and _Game of Thrones,_ but that was all fiction and nothing more, and he’d always been very much aware of that. He knew how to enjoy something and not let it get mixed up with how he actually viewed the world around him. And so, he’d never actually believed in anything supernatural in nature, in any of the myths and legends he'd learned about throughout his life, or the things featured in way too many movies and TV shows these days—vampires, werewolves, ghosts, witches; every single one of those creatures had never been anything more than silly, pointless horror stories to him. He had always been pretty skeptical about all of that, and the same applied to religion—he wasn’t a believer, and he’d never thought he would ever become one.

So it really wasn’t surprising or odd that this whole thing had very easily uprooted his entire fucking life.

Part of him still wanted to believe that yesterday had been nothing more than a freaky dream, brought on by a truly unholy amount of alcohol _,_ but somehow he knew that wasn't the case here. He  _knew_ that the conversation he'd had with the ghost had actually happened, knew that everything that had happened in that living room had been _real,_ but that certainty didn't make him feel better at all; it didn't soothe his mind even in the slightest. In fact, it only made him question his own sanity even more.

“Seriously, Dean, I’m actually getting worried now.”

The sound of Jess’ voice forced Dean to once again break out of his own thoughts and snap his attention back to reality, and in a very accurate repeat of what had happened barely a handful of minutes ago, he found her staring at him with worried, inquiring eyes.

Damn it. He’d done it again, hadn’t he?

“Sorry.” He shook his head again, returning the cherry treat he was still holding in his hand to the table right before him, placing the mini cupcake with the rest of the pastries they'd been trying, even if he’d bitten into that one. He doubted the bakery might want to try and sell these afterwards, anyway, though he couldn’t really find it in himself to care if that happened to be the case. There was just way too much going on in his head at the moment. “I just spaced out for a minute there.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Jess replied, and although her voice wasn’t exactly sharp, there was still a small hint of annoyance coating her tone. “I just… I don’t know. You’re weird today. You’re doing that a lot. It’s very unlike you.”

It was, and Dean knew that, but then again, he was pretty sure he had a very good reason to act the way he was acting right now, as odd as his current behavior may seem to everyone around him. He just couldn’t turn his thoughts off, couldn’t keep his mind completely focused on the present, on the tangible, rational reality happening in front of him right now when all his mind seemed truly capable of doing at the moment was yell the word _ghost_ at him over and over again until it drove him mad.

And he was pretty sure he wasn't very far from that point right now.

But he couldn’t tell Jess about any of that. She would think he was actually insane. Dean himself hadn’t yet completely crossed out that possibility if he was being honest with himself, but he didn’t really want to share that with anyone else at the moment, thank you very much. The last thing he needed right now was for anyone to try and stage some sort of intervention and have him look for help or something, because if it turned out that he truly wasn’t crazy and that this whole ghost thing was actually real, then that would do the very opposite of helping him. He'd be _wrongly_ labeled as crazy if that happened, because even if the ghost was truly real, certainly no one would believe a word Dean said about it, and he definitely did not want to deal with whatever consequences that particular path entailed. He had to figure out what was going on both in his head and in his apartment before he did anything else, before he even _considered_ telling anyone about this or went looking for any kind of help, so for now he just had to try and act normal.

And that was way easier said than done.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He sighed, letting his shoulders rise and fall in a weak, apologetic shrug, and he didn’t even try to disguise the tiredness that slipped into his voice as he added,  “I just didn’t sleep well last night. You know, with Ben leaving tomorrow and all.”

Jess’ features softened instantly at those words, the mildly annoyed and obviously worried look that had been very clear in her eyes up until then fading in just a matter of seconds, melting away and giving place to something a lot closer to sadness and understanding. And as her gaze shifted into something a lot softer and friendlier, Dean immediately knew that he’d successfully managed to find a good cover story.

And while that excuse wasn’t the whole truth, it wasn't exactly a lie, either, so he couldn't really find it in himself to feel guilty about this, about not being completely honest with Jess. Under any other circumstances, Dean knew that Ben’s departure would be the only thing on his mind, and that he would have probably lost a few nights of sleep over it, so even if there wasn't a ghost currently haunting his apartment, he would probably still be in a similar tired state to the one he was in right now. And the fact that Ben's trip wasn't the only thing on his mind did not mean that Dean was no longer worried and anxious about it either, because honestly, he still wasn't happy about it at all. He’d never been away from Ben for so long, and the next three weeks were certainly not something Dean was looking forward to.

But again, that wasn’t the reason why he was so tired right now; it wasn’t the most insistent, prominent thought hammering away at his skull, echoing loudly and nonstop inside his head.

He kinda wished it was, though. That would be so much simpler to both explain and understand, not to mention incredibly easier to deal with. He wouldn’t feel like he was slowly going insane if that was the case, for one.

“I don’t know what that feels like,” Jess admitted, voice a lot softer than it had been before, turning gentle all of a sudden, a clear contrast to what it had sounded like only a few seconds prior. The shift was impossible to miss, and it had Dean growing quiet, feeling glad that she’d bought his excuse so easily, without even questioning it. “I mean, I don’t have a child, so I really can’t imagine what it feels like for you to be away from Ben for so long for the first time, but… He’ll be okay, Dean. Lisa will be there, and he’ll have fun at the ranch. You’ve said it yourself that he’s really excited about it.”

Numbly, Dean nodded, swallowing drily. “He is,” he said, forcing his mind to focus on the subject at hand, and it was a lot easier to do that now than he’d expected it to be. He guessed he could thank the powerful wave of worry that suddenly flooded his chest for that, which seemed to happen every time he as much as thought about this family trip. “I know he’ll have fun, and that he’ll be looked after. I just…” He shrugged weakly, shaking his head as he let out a heavy, tired sigh. He was being completely truthful and he didn’t even need to fake the waver in his voice as he added, “It’s just hard to think he won’t be around for three whole weeks. I’ll miss him so much.”

Jess nodded slowly, reaching out over the table to gently grab Dean’s hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, smiling softly at him. Her eyes looked a lot warmer all of a sudden; it was almost like she was trying to soothe his mind and make him feel better with that look alone, and for some reason Dean did find the sight calming, grounding even, feeling thankfulness blossom inside his chest. He really had the best sister-in-law-to-be ever.

“I know,” she whispered simply.

After the exchange, Dean forced himself to actually focus on what was happening right in front of him, to pay more attention to everything Jess said to him and answer whatever questions she had for him the first time she asked them, because he knew this was important to Sam and Jess and he had promised to help. And he _wanted_ to help, of course he did, so he just needed to put some effort into not letting his mind wander off again, into forgetting about his problems for just a little while so he could do this for them. Whenever he did space out for a bit, though, Jess wouldn't complain about it; she actually didn’t even seem annoyed or bothered by it at all. She would simply smile softly at him, repeating whatever she’d previously said and he’d completely ignored, her tone light and not carrying even a single hint of annoyance or impatience, as she'd apparently decided to automatically understand Dean's distracted behavior as him being worried about Ben’s trip without needing to ask about it again.

Dean was very glad for it, and of course he didn’t bother to correct her.

***~*~*~*~***

After everything had been sorted out at the bakery, Dean and Jess met up with Sam to eat lunch at a little Italian place a few blocks away from the Sandover office building, and it was a really big surprise to Dean that Sam didn’t make even a single comment about how tired he looked at all throughout the entire meal, though the older Winchester was fairly certain that he could thank Jess for that, since he doubted she hadn’t filled Sam in on what they had talked about this morning at the bakery when Dean hadn’t been nearby. Well, either that or Sam was just way too tired for that conversation as well, and honestly, it certainly looked like that could very easily be the case. The bags under his little brother’s eyes were very hard to ignore, but of course Dean didn’t comment on them, because that might prompt Sam to inquire about Dean’s own obviously tired state and that just wasn’t something the older Winchester wanted to deal with right now, so he didn’t dare take that risk.

Work was pretty much eventless that day, though in Dean’s opinion, time went by a lot faster than he would have liked it to, which was truly a new one for him, especially during a workday. With every hour that passed, Dean became even more bothered and annoyed that the time for him to go back home seemed to be growing nearer unusually fast, because that meant that he would be have to go back to where that damn ghost was sooner rather than later, that in just a matter of a few hours he would have to return to his apartment and face the issues he'd been trying to ignore all day. At some point, he found that all he could really do was think about the fact that in that moment, there was some random dead dude just hanging out in his apartment, probably being invisible like a fucking creep, and that even if Dean couldn't see him, the guy may or may not be watching everything he did from the moment he stepped through the front door.

And wasn’t that something fun and awesome for Dean to look forward to when he went home every day.

To postpone having to deal with that situation for as long as he possibly could, Dean even lingered around in Bobby’s office for a while once his shift at the garage was over, just talking to his boss about his morning at the bakery with Jess and his lunch with her and Sam, as well as about how he was worried that his brother seemed to be overworking himself a bit too much lately, but at some point Bobby finally shooed Dean out the door claiming that he had to get some more work done if he wanted to be home in time for dinner, so Dean was left with no other choice but to actually leave.

Awesome.

When Dean got home that evening, the sun was already dipping low in the horizon, painting the sky in countless hues of red and orange. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling any better by then, and once he was inside his apartment, he found himself pausing by the front door, simply standing there for almost a full minute, swallowing drily as he let his gaze scan the room around him, half-expecting to find the same trench-coat-wearing man from last night standing there in the corner with his wide, owl-like blue eyes, just staring right back at him, as if he'd spent the last few hours waiting for Dean to get home or something.

But that wasn’t the case. The room in front of Dean was seemingly empty and apparently devoid of another person but himself, so he tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling he could already feel crawling up his spine, setting his jaw tight as he marched across the living room, walking over and into the hallway without another glance around the room, hurriedly grabbing himself a clean change of clothes in his bedroom and crossing the hallway in two big strides, then locking himself inside the bathroom. Not that doing that now would accomplish much of anything, though, because ghosts went through stuff, right? Locking the door whenever he was indecent wouldn’t be enough to keep that dude out of the room if he really wanted to go in, and there was nothing Dean could do about that. And he wouldn’t even know if the guy was in there with him, either, which was probably the worst part of this whole thing—the doubt of whether or not he was being watched, the constant feeling that he wasn’t completely alone, which he had no idea if he could really trust or not.

Yeah, he really was bordering on paranoid at this point, but again, he was pretty sure he was entitled to. He’d certainly earned that right.

Dean took a shower as quickly as he possibly could and exactly as he’d done in the morning—constantly glancing over his shoulder, checking his surroundings every couple of minutes just to make sure that he was really alone, or at least that no one was actually _visible_ in the room with him. But of course, even if he didn’t actually see anyone during the whole time he was in the bathroom, he didn’t feel entirely safe. The thought that a freaking ghost could very easily be standing invisible anywhere inside that room—the guy could even be there with him in the fucking _shower_ , Dean realized, and not in a fun, sexy way—was really doing things to his head, and Dean hated every second of it. His muscles were constantly tense, as though his body was unconsciously prepared for _something_ to happen, for the ghost to suddenly be there right in front of him and do… well, whatever you’d expect of a ghost, he guessed. All the horror movies Dean had ever watched in his life kept flashing through his mind and making him even more nervous, because suddenly he was very much aware of just how vulnerable and exposed he was, standing naked in the shower like this.

And wasn’t that how people should feel around ghosts, anyway? Jumpy and afraid for their lives?

Except... that wasn't the case here, at least not entirely. Dean wasn’t exactly scared, wasn’t terrified or feeling the need to run away from this apartment, to get as far away from this place as he possibly could and never, ever come back. No, he was just… uncomfortable and tense, unsure of what to expect, wondering if maybe he should be doing anything differently, if maybe his game plan should include something else other than simply continuing on with his life and basically just trying to ignore the problem until it went away on its own.

But then again, maybe he didn't actually have a reason to be so worried. Honestly, trench coat guy didn't exactly seem dangerous, and if he really wanted to hurt Dean, he would have done it already, right? He’d surely had plenty of opportunities to do that up until now, since apparently he'd been around for weeks. And yet, he hadn’t tried to do anything to actually harm Dean—at least not that the man knew of, anyway. 

However, even if those thoughts did make sense, they weren't enough to entirely soothe Dean's mind, because there was a little voice in the back of his head that kept reminding him that the guy was still new to this ghost thing, so maybe he just didn’t _know_ how to hurt anyone yet. He still didn't seem able to control when he was visible or not, and he couldn’t even touch anything, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t learn how to do all that eventually, and Dean had no way to know what would happen then.

But the ghost had even _warned_ Dean about Ben's crying last week, and that had to mean something, right? That had to mean the guy was... well, not a bad person, or at least that he  _hadn't_ been a bad person when he'd been alive, so shouldn't that mean that he probably _wouldn't_ try to hurt Dean? That he was actually some sort of... friendly ghost or whatever? Not to mention that he'd looked so sad and miserable about this whole thing, about being dead and not even remembering how it'd happened, or not knowing his own freaking name. Dean had actually felt bad for him, to be honest, and he figured someone who might end up becoming some sort of dangerous, psycho ghost wouldn't act like that.

So maybe Dean shouldn’t be afraid of him. Maybe he really should just… try to live his life, try to ignore all of this until the guy finally moved on to haunt someone else's house, because apparently there was nothing Dean could do to actually fix the problem. It wasn't like he could actually try and send the ghost away. He didn't even know if there was a way to do that, actually.

Or maybe there was. Didn't ghosts go away when they finally found... peace or whatever? When they no longer had any unfinished business around here? At least that's how it usually went in movies, anyway, but obviously Dean had no idea if that actually applied to real life. Honestly, he still didn't really understand how any of this worked. And anyway, even if that guy was really still around because he had some kind of unfinished business keeping him on Earth, Dean had no way to help with that, or at least he didn't think he could do anything about it. The guy didn't even remember his own freaking name, so the chances that he even knew why the fuck he was stuck here had to be pretty fucking low. So really, there wasn't anything Dean could do but wait this whole thing out. 

It was a little easier for Dean to get through his shower after making that decision, and even if his mind wasn't exactly soothed and he still didn't feel entirely safe, he did his best to ignore all those thoughts for now. Worrying about this would do nothing to help him, wouldn't solve the situation in any way, so there was just no point to it, he reasoned.

Once he was showered and dressed in his sleeping clothes—which today consisted of an old AC/DC t-shirt and boxers—Dean settled on couch to watch some movies before going to bed, because he already knew that he would have a lot of trouble sleeping tonight and he didn’t feel like dealing with that just yet, and somehow he ended up watching _The Lion King_ for what was probably the thousandth time. He really loved that movie; it reminded him of when he was little and used to watch it all the time, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV and staring up in wonder at the screen of the small, old TV in his childhood home living room, saying the lines out loud with the characters and singing along to the songs while his mother smiled down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Before their lives got impossibly complicated and she no longer had any time to watch movies with him or Sammy, that was.

And for a while, everything was fine. Dean felt better than he had in days, actually, letting himself get lost in the movie, almost overwhelmed by all the memories that filled his mind, memories of happier, easier times that he sometimes wished he could go back to. He let himself get _distracted_ , let himself be pulled away from all the troubles currently plaguing his mind and scratching away at the thin, delicate thread that had become his sanity at this point, which at the moment was apparently exactly what he needed.

That didn’t last too long, though. Dean was watching as Timon and Pumbaa found Simba passed out in the middle of the desert when he suddenly felt the temperature of the air around him drop, and he sat up a little straighter on the couch just as he felt a shiver running down his spine. But even if he was pretty sure he knew exactly what had caused all of that, he still breathed out heavily to test out the air temperature right in front of him, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, and he instantly felt a spark of annoyance come to life inside his chest when he realized that he could see his own freaking breath right in front of his face, as if he was out on a cold day in the middle of winter.

Only it wasn’t winter, and he wasn’t fucking outside, damn it.

Disappointment bloomed inside his chest at that realization, and Dean let himself fall back against the couch cushions with a huff. It was like some unconscious part of mind had been hoping that the ghost was already gone, that the fact that Dean hadn’t spent the night here might have changed something, that the fact that nothing weird had happened this morning or since he’d arrived back home this evening might mean that the ghost had already vanished from the apartment and gone off to his next random haunting location, even if none of those theories actually made sense and it was foolish of him to be so hopeful about that so soon.

But apparently he still had company, a thought that from that moment on just wouldn’t stop echoing inside his head, making him more and more uncomfortable with every minute that passed, until it finally got to the point where he couldn’t even really concentrate on the movie anymore. More often than not, Dean would find himself tearing his eyes away from the television screen and glancing around the room, glaring at empty space, secretly hoping that he would somehow nail the spot where the ghost might be standing when he did it. Dean knew the guy was around; he had to be, because that was the only thing that explained the way the temperature had just dropped without a warning.

But of course, Dean had no idea where the dude was exactly, and he absolutely hated that. The guy was probably laughing at him, too, if he really was just glaring at empty space. Maybe he thought Dean was crazy, too.

Honestly, Dean wouldn’t blame him if he did. He had a feeling this whole situation might actually end up driving him insane, after all.

He did try to ignore all the thoughts about the ghost for a while, though; tried to push away the uncomfortable feeling that had settled inside his chest, and out of sheer stubbornness, Dean paused the movie when the coldness really started to bother him, then got up to his feet and trudged into the hallway, walking into his room without a single glance behind. He only stayed there for a few seconds, though, just long enough to grab himself a comforter from his bed, before marching right back into the living room and dropping back heavily onto the couch with an annoyed huff. He was determined to not let this ghost thing take over his freaking life, to not let it change his routine in any way, and the only way he could come up with to do that was for him to do his best to pretend that there was nothing wrong, that everything was normal, that his life wasn’t all kinds of messed up right now.

So even as distracted as he was, even if his attention was very much focused elsewhere, Dean still watched the entire movie until the very end, hugging his comforter even closer to his body whenever he felt another cold draft brushing against his skin and making him shiver, focusing his eyes firmly on the TV screen and doing his best to concentrate on the animated images dancing in front of his face.

And to make that whole situation even more maddening, every few minutes Dean could swear he would see something out of the corner of his eye, as if there was someone standing behind the back of the couch, hovering above him only a couple of steps away, but every single time he turned his head around to check, a curse ready to jump from his tongue, he would find nothing but empty space around him, which could not mean anything good concerning his sanity.

The lights flashed twice throughout the entire movie, but Dean just set his jaw tighter and kept his eyes on the screen, swallowing drily and at some point deciding to just not look for the guy anymore, even when he really thought he'd seen something.

None of this was about the movie, of course—this weird determination to just sit there and watch something he’d already seen over a thousand times before when he wasn’t even that into it anymore, when he wasn’t even enjoying it. No, he was just trying to prove a point by doing this, trying to convince himself that he could still do everything he used to do before that damn ghost came along, that this whole thing didn’t actually have such a strong hold on his life, that it didn’t actually _change_ anything. He wanted to do something that made him feel normal, and not like a paranoid, crazy person. And all of that might sound a bit stupid or pointless, he was aware, but he also didn’t care. He felt like he needed to do this, like he had to somehow try and regain control of his own freaking life, and he wasn’t going to give up on it. He wasn’t going to let this disrupt his life.

And in the end, he actually did succeed in watching the entire movie, but he didn’t feel as accomplished as he’d thought he would once the credits started rolling. He also didn’t feel like lingering around in the living room and watching something else, because that just wouldn’t be worth the stress, not to mention that he was already feeling oddly tired after the terrible, drunken night of sleep he'd spent in the backseat of the Impala. He really should get ready for bed, he decided, already feeling the lethargy of sleepiness slowly fogging up his mind and spreading though his entire body, so he got up to his feet and turned off the TV, wrapping his comforter even more tightly around his shoulders and quietly padding into the hallway, turning the lights off as he went. Also, at least in bed he could just cover his head up with his comforter to hide himself from sight and pretend that there was no way a creepy fucking ghost might be standing in the corner of his room watching him sleep, and maybe, just maybe, trying to figure out how to kill him.

Yeah, as if that would actually be enough to help him get any sleep tonight.

That weird, tingling feeling that kept going up and down his spine, the one that kept trying to warn him that he wasn’t alone and that he was currently being watched made itself known a few times while he brushed his teeth and went through his usual bedtime routine, which didn’t help soothe Dean’s mind about this situation at all and made him even less confident that he would actually be able to get some rest tonight, but he decided to just ignore that feeling for now and only actually worry about it once he was lying awake in bed, as hard as that was.

And surprisingly, it was only when he walked into his room minutes later with the intention of finally going to bed and felt the fucking temperature drop again that Dean finally lost his patience.

“Okay, are you here?” he asked out loud, voice echoing off the walls of the seemingly empty room, and yes, he realized just how fucking crazy he sounded, especially if one of his neighbors could actually hear him, but he didn’t care all that much about that right now.

He got no response, of course, although he couldn’t quite decide if that was a good thing or not.

“If you’re there,” he continued, glaring around the room, once again not sure where he should be focusing his eyes on, or if the damn ghost was actually even there to begin with, “Then please, just… fucking leave. No… creeping on me while I sleep, capisce? Just… go do whatever the fuck you do while I’m not around, but not in this room.”

Again, Dean got no response, and he really tried not to be disappointed by that, but that was way easier said than done. While the lack of a response might mean that the ghost simply wasn’t here to reply, that the guy had actually been honest with Dean when he'd said that he didn't normally wander deeper into the apartment if he didn't have a reason to do so, Dean had no way to know if that was really the case here. And if the ghost  _was_ here, then Dean wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that he didn’t get any sign or word of agreement from the guy, and the heavy silence that surrounded him turned out to be the very opposite of soothing. The dude had to be around here somewhere—there was just no other way to explain the abrupt temperature drop—and the fact that the ghost wasn’t showing himself when Dean asked him to, and instead was apparently choosing to remain completely quiet, could not possibly mean anything good.

Or maybe he just couldn’t find a way to respond to Dean, because again, the guy clearly didn't know how control the whole ghost thing just yet. Either way, there was nothing Dean could do about this now, since there was no way for him to find out what the reason for the ghost's silence truly was. So in the end, Dean just let out a tired breath, deciding he had no other option but to drop that matter for now before he finally crawled into bed, mind still set on his plan of pretending there was nothing wrong and trying to get some sleep, grumbling to himself about how he had to bury himself under a fucking comforter in the middle of fucking summer because that damn ghost kept trying to turn his apartment into a fucking freezer.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take too long for Dean to fall asleep, but he was pretty sure he could thank the few terrible hours of sleep he’d gotten last night for that small miracle.

***~*~*~*~***

Dean woke up feeling about as tired as he’d been when he’d gone to bed the night before, even if he did actually manage to get a few hours of sleep. But that wasn’t exactly surprising, considering he hadn't exactly rested the previous night, and he did his best to shake off the sleepiness that still very insistently clung to his mind when his alarm startled him awake in the morning. He didn’t even linger too long in bed like he normally did, doing his best to somehow send the sleepiness away while he stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, and soon enough he was rolling out of bed with an unhappy grunt, because this morning was the last time he would see his son for three weeks, and Dean couldn't possibly be late for that.

He actually got to Lisa’s house about an hour earlier than he’d planned to, so it wasn't much of a surprise that Lisa, Matt and Ben weren’t ready to leave for their trip just yet. In fact, they had still been shoving their things into the car and figuring out some last minute issues when Dean parked the Impala by the curb right in front of their house. And any other time, Dean would have dreaded to have Lisa invite him inside while she and Matt dealt with everything, because that would mean being under the same roof as Lisa and Matt for a lot longer than just a short couple of minutes, which normally meant that things would get super awkward real fucking fast, but today Dean didn’t really care about that. He got to spend some extra time with his son while Matt and Lisa did everything they still had to do before leaving, so it was completely worth it.

And of course, while Dean played with Ben or listened to all the stories his son was very excited to tell him while they waited for Lisa and Matt to be done with their last minute packing, the worried father couldn't help but watch the boy carefully, looking for any lingering signs of the breakdown Ben had had back at his apartment, for any hint that perhaps that whole episode with the bully might still be affecting the boy somehow. Dean had had a pretty long conversation with Lisa about it, of course, and she'd promised him that she would talk to Ben, that she would try to explain the situation as much as she possibly could to a kid Ben's age, hoping that somehow he'd understand things a bit more, that it would make things better somehow. Afterwards, she'd told Dean that Ben had cried again during that conversation, but eventually the boy had calmed down, and according to Lisa, he was apparently doing a lot better about that whole situation now.

Dean had asked her what exactly she'd told Ben, of course, and she'd told him that amongst other things, she'd repeated to him over and over again that even if Daddy didn't live with them anymore and wasn't going on that trip with them, they were still a family, just a different one, and that wasn't a bad thing, but some people just didn't understand that, like Mark. She'd told Ben that Daddy still loved him very much and nothing would ever change that, and that it made Daddy very sad that Ben could possibly doubt that, so he shouldn't do that.

And that had apparently done the trick, because much to the Dean's relief, Ben was acting just like his usual self now, all happy and excited about everything, talking almost constantly about anything he could think of, anything he found interesting enough to have a very serious conversation about with his father, like the matter of what exactly there was inside a turtle's shell ("What if they have an entire _house_ in there, Daddy? Did anyone look to find out?") or why the weird-looking cheese Lisa had apparently bought last week smelled so weird.

The cheese was apparently Gorgonzola, so it was supposed to both look and smell different than the kinds of cheese Ben was most likely used to, but try explaining that to a very imaginative seven-year-old.

Of course, Dean knew this whole thing was far from over. Ben might be feeling better now, but the problem wasn't going away, and Dean really shouldn't let his guard down. A few words were surely not enough to fix the harm Dean and Lisa's separation had caused, were not enough to send all the ugly thoughts and fears away, to erase them from Ben's mind. No, those thoughts and fears would probably haunt— _no_ , bad word choice there—would still burden Ben for a while now, probably years, which was honestly a pretty painful thought to have. And Dean could only hope that he had what it took to deal with that, and that he wouldn't end up screwing things up even more than he already had.

When it was time for them to leave, letting go of Ben was truly one of the hardest things Dean had ever done in his life. Ever since the day Ben had been born, ever since the first time Dean had held him back in that hospital room, just a little baby, whining and frowning and barely even able to open his eyes to look up at Dean just yet, this tiny, fragile thing that had had Dean smiling down at him nonstop, completely mesmerized and awestruck for hours to no end, until a nurse had to practically pry the baby out of his arms when it was time for Ben to get fed, Dean had never been away from the boy for over a week.

And now Dean wouldn’t see his son for three whole weeks. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that?

“Okay, so what did I tell you about the animals?” Dean asked from the spot where he was currently crouched right in front of Ben so that their height difference wasn't so big, eyeing the boy expectantly. Lisa and Matt were standing several steps away from them, all the way back on the front porch and just out of earshot, simply lingering quietly by the front of the house, even though they had already finished loading up the car and had been ready to go for a while now.

They were giving him and Ben some privacy while they said goodbye, which Dean was very much happy for.

“Don't go near any of the animals without an adult around,” Ben recited his father’s exact words from earlier today.

“Yes,” Dean nodded lightly in approval. “And?”

“Don't go out alone. And always do what Mommy says.”

Dean nodded again, pleased that Ben had everything his father had said to him today memorized by now. “Good.” He raised his hand, messing up his son’s hair, earning a loud, adorable laugh from the boy. “And _behave_ yourself, alright?”

Ben lifted his arms, trying to swat his father’s hand away, though he was smiling as he did it. “Daaad!”

Dean insisted on messing up his son’s hair for just a couple more seconds, before finally letting his hand fall back to his side. His smile lingered on his lips for only a beat longer, before it slowly melted away when Dean realized that he could already feel his eyes stinging as the first tears began to form in them. But he held them back, no matter how much his eyes burned right then, resolutely telling himself that he wouldn’t cry, at least not here, in front of Ben and Lisa and _freaking Matt_. Yes, three weeks was a long time and all, but Ben was going to have fun at the ranch, and he would be with his mother, so he should be perfectly safe. There was no reason for Dean to be this worried and sad about this.

But then why was this _so fucking hard?_

“Okay,” Dean whispered, nodding again, and even to himself his voice sounded strained, dangerously close to breaking, but he was pretty sure Ben shouldn't notice it. “You have fun, alright, bud?”

Ben nodded enthusiastically, smiling brightly at his father, his excitement clear in his eyes. At the sight of his son so happy about this trip, Dean did his best to push all his reservations concerning this whole thing aside, tried to swallow all of his worries down as he pulled the boy into another tight hug.

"I'll miss you, bud," Dean whispered.

"I'll miss you too, Daddy," Ben whispered back. "You really don't..." The boy paused for a second, apparently changing his mind about whatever he'd been about to say, until he tried again, "You really can't go?"

Dean pulled away from his son slowly, and it was a relief to see that there were no tears welling up in those big brown eyes. All he could see was a small, sad pout.

"I would go if I could, Ben. I really would. I would love nothing more than to spend the next three weeks having fun with you at that ranch. But I really can't go, buddy."

Instead of crying or looking even sadder, Ben actually nodded, looking impressively calm about his father's answer. Lisa had really made a miracle happen here, it seemed. "Because it's complicated, and it's a grown-up thing." Ben sounded like he was repeating those words, like he was reciting something he'd memorized at some point, probably Lisa's exact words from when she'd talked to him, and Dean had to actually hold back a chuckle at how adorable the boy sounded right then, especially with the tiny little frown of concentration that formed in his brows as he spoke.

Dean nodded, feeling his throat tight and weird, and he had to swallow once before he finally managed to let out a low and weak, "That's right. It's a grown-up thing." He lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from the boy's forehead, tucking it back in its place gently, before he sighed. "I love you, Ben. I wish I could spend all the time in the world with you, I really do, but just because I can't do it, that doesn't mean I love you any less." The waver in his voice was clear, and apparently obvious enough for a seven-year-old to pick up on.

"Don't be sad, Daddy," Ben said, before he stepped forward and wrapped his small arms around his father's neck so that he could give the man another hug, and Dean hurried to return it, feeling his eyes burn even more as he did it. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold back those tears.

"I love you, Ben. I love you," he repeated the words over and over again, as if part of him hoped that would be enough to convince his son somehow, that they would be enough to solve everything and send all of the boy's doubts and fears away.

They pulled away a couple of minutes later, and Dean was quick to get back up to his feet, before the boy could realize that his father's eyes were shining even more now. Lisa and Matt apparently took that as a sign that Dean was done with his goodbye and finally walked closer, both of them giving Dean awkward, tense smiles. All of the stuff they would be taking with them on the trip was already in the car, so the three of them all just climbed in, and far too soon they were driving away in Matt's new and shiny Volkswagen Passat. Ben waved back at his father through the back window, still smiling as the car grew farther and farther away. Dean waved back at his son, smiling back as he did it, even if the action didn’t feel quite genuine, and then watched them go until the car made a right turn at the end of the block and disappeared from view.

Dean just stood there on the sidewalk for about ten minutes after that happened, simply staring at the spot where the car had vanished from sight, before he let out a shaky sigh and finally managed to force himself to move and walk over to where the Impala was still parked by the curb, his heart feeling painfully heavy inside his chest. The first few tears fell just as he slid into the driver's seat, but he didn't even bother trying to hold them back now that he was alone.

These were going to be three long, _long_ weeks.

***~*~*~*~***

“Dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean glared at Sam for what felt like the twentieth time already since his freaking tree of a brother had first slipped into the seat across from him in their booth, which was probably a record for him, considering they'd only been here for about half an hour. He didn’t grace Sam with a verbal response, though, just that look, because surely that would be enough to convey his thoughts to his brother. Sam would know what that glare meant by itself, would read it as clearly as if Dean had actually spoken any number of words out loud to complain about hearing that question one more freaking time.

But the overgrown moose really didn't want to let this go, did he?

“I mean, Dean, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that you invited me to go out and grab dinner together. I really am,” Sam hurried to say, like he feared what might follow his brother’s glare, like he was afraid Dean may have actually grown so annoyed by that question that he might just get up and leave without another word. “We almost never do this anymore, and with the wedding coming up and work getting busier every day, I feel like I barely even see you anymore. But… I mean, you just look really tired. Like, there are actual dark bags under your eyes now, and I’m just… worried.”

Dean shook his head at Sam, letting out a tired sigh as he leaned back on his seat, pressing his back against the leather covered backrest right behind him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected those comments from his brother, of course; he’d seen them coming a mile away, and he'd been very much aware of what he was getting himself into when he’d taken a seat in this booth earlier, though he had to admit that he hadn't truly considered this idea as thoroughly as he should have when he'd first decided to call Sam to invite him out to have dinner tonight. It had been a pretty impulsive decision, really, and maybe he should have thought it out a bit better.

But the thing was—Dean was still pretty bummed out about Ben leaving last Wednesday, and he hadn’t really wanted to eat dinner at home tonight. Well, mostly, he just didn't want to be alone right now, or at least not for the whole night. He felt like the fact that he wouldn’t see his son for three weeks had only truly registered in his mind today, because this was the first Friday night Dean didn’t have Ben over in a long, long time, and his apartment had felt way too quiet and empty without his son there when he’d gotten home today after work. He’d even showered quickly right after he’d gotten home from his shift at the garage, following his usual routine without much thought, until he was about to grab his car keys, right around the time he normally left to go over to Lisa’s to pick up Ben, and finally realized that he wouldn’t be doing that today. And in that moment, that same heavy, suffocating weight that had settled over his heart while he’d watched Ben leave was back with full force, making his chest feel tight and weird, as though someone had reached into it to take his heart in their hand, then squeeze it until it freaking popped.

This was going to be a very, very sad weekend, Dean could already tell. But tonight, he just really wanted to get out of the apartment for a while, though he really didn’t want a repeat of what had happened the last time he’d done that, since he didn’t think he could handle yet another night sleeping in the Impala’s backseat. So instead, he’d decided that spending some time out with his brother might help cheer him up a bit, as well as distract him for a little while, getting his mind off of not only Lisa and Ben's family trip, but also of yet another matter he’d been trying _very_ hard not to think about throughout the past few days—namely, the fact that there a fucking ghost currently living with him.

But of course that hadn't been working out all that great for him.

He hadn’t seen the ghost since last Monday, which was honestly freaking Dean out quite a bit, but it also made him feel just a little bit hopeful that maybe the guy was actually gone already, especially because there hadn't been any incidents of flashing lights, odd cold drafts or things breaking or randomly changing places without an explanation throughout this whole week. And Dean would have no way to know when the guy finally moved on to haunt some other place, anyway; it wasn't like he could give Dean a warning or leave him a freaking note, so maybe it'd already happened.

But then again, the lack of weird, freaky stuff happening around him at home didn't exactly mean anything by itself. The ghost had apparently been haunting Dean’s apartment for weeks, maybe even months, and it was only now that Dean had actually gotten a chance to talk to the guy, so he really shouldn’t get too hopeful that the dude might be gone already just because he hadn’t seen the ghost in a handful of days. And anyway, all those freaky things didn’t use to happen very often before, and there was no reason for that to have changed now. Dean couldn’t just assume the ghost was no longer around.

Which was precisely why Dean still didn't feel... well, relaxed or at ease in his apartment—that weird feeling that he was being watched, that annoying tingling in the back of his neck that got all his hair standing, that weird, silent warning playing inside his head, telling him that there were eyes on him—he could never fucking shake any of it off, and instead of getting better and easier to deal with, his damn paranoia actually seemed to get worse with every freaking day that passed. He just never felt truly _alone_ in his apartment anymore, no matter where he was or what he was doing, which was probably enough to push even the most balanced person to the edge. He had to do basically _everything_  while nearly constantly glancing over his shoulder and around the room to try and reassure himself that the ghost wasn't there with him, and he was growing tired of it really fucking fast.

He also wasn’t sleeping well at all, even if he'd been giving that whole tea idea a try. He'd wake up every couple of hours, tossing and turning almost constantly on his bed, and he was certain that it showed. There really were dark bags under his eyes at this point, he was very much aware of that, so it really was no surprise that Sam had noticed them and that his brother wasn't exactly willing to just let it go. Dean knew he would be doing the exact same thing if their roles were reversed. Worrying about each other was kind of their thing.

He just hoped that damn ghost would be gone sooner rather than later, because he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could actually take.

He’d decided today that this whole ghost deal must be some sort of joke from the Universe, a ridiculous prank, and that if there really was some sort of deity or powerful entity or something watching over him—and he couldn’t deny that he'd been wondering about that lately, because _ghost_ —they had to be laughing their ass off at his misery right now. Sure, Dean had complained that he was lonely, but  _this_  was definitely  _not_ a good solution for that problem. He wasn't _that_ desperate.

And the thing was—as paranoid as he felt inside his own home, as uncomfortable and bothered as he felt during every fucking second of every fucking day, there really was no solution for his problem other than just waiting until the ghost finally went away on its own. It wasn’t like he could fucking _move._ He refused to let that ghost drive him out of his home, even if he wasn’t all that fond of his shitty, tiny apartment to begin with. This was a matter of principle. And while that guy was still (very possibly) around, waiting for whatever the fuck it was that had dragged him away from all the other places he’d been at before finally came and took him away again, Dean would just have to get used to being out of the apartment a bit more often than he was used to. When he’d been younger, he'd be out at some bar or restaurant with his friends, or sometimes just over at their house, almost every night, but in more recent years, going out to socialize was truly a rare occurrence for him.

And one night stands? Well, he hadn't had one of those in a long, _long_  time.

So of course an invitation to go out and eat dinner at Benny’s Cajun restaurant had caught Sam completely by surprise. Dean couldn’t even remember the last time he’d invited Sam to go anywhere with him without Ben being involved, so obviously his brother had been able to tell something was wrong right away. Honestly, Dean hadn’t truly thought this idea all the way through until the words were out of his mouth, or else he might have backed out of it as soon as he realized that Sam might ask way too many questions, most of which Dean couldn't answer.

Well, he _could_ , but his brother might think he was insane.

Dean let out a heavy, tired breath at that thought, shoulders sagging at his sides. He shook his head lightly at his brother, doing his best to sound convincing as he insisted, “There’s really no reason for you to worry about me, Sammy. I'm fine, really.”

But of course, his brother didn’t seem happy at all with that answer, clearly not convinced by those words. He simply eyed Dean for a moment, eyes heavy and inquiring, focused on Dean’s face so intensely that he might as well be trying to read his brother’s mind, and Dean had to resist the urge to shift uncomfortably under that gaze.

Finally, Sam leaned back in his seat, his shoulders sagging in what Dean assumed to be defeat. Apparently, he hadn't found whatever it was that he'd been looking for on Dean's face. “Seriously, dude, what’s up with you lately?” he asked, voice lower and a lot more gentle than it had been before, almost pleading. “Lately, you’ve been… I don’t know, weird, more distant than normal. It’s… kinda freaky.”

Dean felt himself sag a little against his own seat, the weight of his brother’s still very much intense stare heavy on his shoulders. He had to look away from those hazel eyes, instead letting his own gaze rest on the open bottle of beer Andrea had brought him earlier when she’d taken their orders, which still sat mostly full on the table. Wishing for something to do, he lifted his hand so that he could run the tips of his fingers absentmindedly over the damp, cold surface of the bottle, drawing meaningless, thoughtless lines in the condensed liquid that currently coated the glass. He got where Sam was coming from, he really did, but he had no idea what to say to him. It wasn't like he could tell him the freaking truth.

So, for lack of anything else to say, of an actual explanation to give, he found himself asking, “Weird how?”

Sam let out a huff, apparently not happy with his brother’s answer once again. He shook his head, eyes growing sad, and soon enough Dean found himself subjected to his brother's trademark puppy dog look. “Well, you look like crap, for one,” the younger Winchester pointed out, and Dean rolled his eyes at the comment. Sam huffed again, shaking his head at him for it. “I’m serious, Dean. When was the last time you had a good night of sleep?”

Dean gave his brother an annoyed look, but he knew the fire in his eyes didn’t look quite real even without seeing it, mostly because it didn't _feel_ real. Sam did have a point; Dean couldn't deny that.

But again, he couldn’t exactly talk about this.

“Seriously, Sam, it’s nothing,” Dean insisted, voice growing just a little sharper, making his annoyance clear. “Just… drop it, please.”

Unsurprisingly, Sam looked like he wanted to argue, his famous bitch face falling into place effortlessly. His jaw clenched a few times, the way it always did whenever Sam was annoyed about something, or whenever he was struggling to figure out what to say. That actually went on for a while, a tense, loaded silence filling the air around them, and at some point Sam’s hand actually twitched, like he wanted to reach out for his own still very much untouched beer bottle and take a big gulp from it. Eventually, though, Sam finally seemed to make up his mind on how to put whatever he was thinking into words, and he let out another sigh, his eyes looking oddly determined all of a sudden. Dean had a pretty bad feeling about it.

“Dean, listen, I know… I know that you don’t like to talk about this stuff. Hell, you’ve always been like this, for as long as I can remember. You don’t talk about anything that’s bothering you. But I’m your brother, and I worry about you. I just … I just want to help you, with whatever it is that you’re going through. I’m just trying to—”

“Well, hello there, fellas.”

Dean snapped his head around just in time to see Benny approaching their booth, carrying tray over his shoulder, which he swiftly placed on the edge of their table as soon as he reached it.

Dean had never been happier to see his friend, and he did his best to hide his relief at having their conversation interrupted like that, though he was certain Sam must have seen it written all over his face before he actually managed to cover up his reaction.

Benny was either completely oblivious to the clear tension between the two brothers or he simply chose to ignore it as he picked up the small bowl of Gumbo from the tray and placed it right front of Dean, then set down the plate of Jambalaya in front of Sam, before placing the small bowl full of Hush Puppies right in the center of the table, beside the even smaller bowl of spicy dipping sauce.

It was only when all of their food was properly arranged on the table that Benny looked back up at the two brothers, a wide, friendly smile playing on his lips.

“Now, what do we have here?” he asked, eyes flitting back and forth between the two Winchesters for only a moment before finally settling on Sam. “Managed to get this one out of his cave, did ya? When Andrea said you two were out here, I didn’t believe it. Had to see it with my own two eyes!”

Dean rolled his eyes at the comment, while Sam snorted.

“Great to see you again too, Benny,” Dean said, annoyed, before he finally took another sip from his beer.

Benny turned to look at him, chuckling. “Hey, you know I’m just teasin’ ya, brother. No need for all that poutin’ you've got going on there.” Benny rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder, patting it lightly.

Dean glared up at his friend a little more. “I’m not pouting,” he grumbled, resting his beer back on the table a little more heavily than necessary.

Benny simply chuckled at him again. Sam cast Dean a mildly amused look from across the table, but there was still something heavy in his eyes, a hint of something way too close to worry that hadn't quite faded away when Benny showed up. Dean knew their previous conversation wasn't over just by looking at it, and that thought made him felt a bit sick in his stomach.

Benny didn’t linger by their table for too long after that, telling the two brothers to holler if they needed anything else and excusing himself, saying that he had to go back to the kitchen, though not before informing Dean that they had a freshly baked cherry pie currently cooling in the kitchen, which was instantly enough to get Dean smiling again, if only just a little bit.

Sam didn’t try to steer their conversation back to their previous topic after Benny was gone, for which Dean was very glad. They simply dug into their food as soon as they were alone again, talking idly every now and then about nothing of relevance, with Sam doing most of the talking, much to Dean’s relief. Sam told Dean about how he and Jess would need to take Bones to get neutered soon, or about this fight that had broken out in his office over some spilled coffee, or how apparently there was a lot of drama going on over at Sandover because of the big boss’ family—one of CEO's sons had died recently, and the other one had been missing for a few months now, or something like that. Dean wasn’t really registering everything he was hearing, but he nodded along and made half-hearted comments at the appropriate times. And honestly, he was actually glad for the distraction of Sam’s rambling—all those irrelevant, silly and sometimes even funny stories were definitely enough to get Dean’s mind off of all his problems for a little while, and that was truly all he’d hoped for tonight, all he'd wished to get from going out to spend some time with his baby brother.

When they were done with their food, their beers were completely gone, though they both refused to get refills when Andrea walked over to their table to gather up their dirty dishes and asked them if they wanted another round, since they were both driving. They asked for water and a few slices of pie instead, and she walked off quickly, a friendly smile playing on her lips as she told them she would be right back with their dessert.

She wasn’t the one who brought them their pie, though—Benny sauntered over to their table with a huge grin on his lips just a minute later, placing one slice of pie in front of Sam and two in front of Dean. He winked at the older brother, smirking, and Dean frowned confusedly at his friend.

“Andrea tells me someone’s got their eyes on ya, brother,” Benny whispered, nodding his head subtly toward the front of the restaurant. “His name’s Aaron, and according to her, he hasn’t looked at anything else for the past ten minutes.” He grinned again, winked, and then walked away before Dean could even respond.

Sam also grinned at Dean when the older Winchester turned his head back around to glance at his brother, to which Dean shook his head and snorted. They dug into their food without a word, for a moment simply letting themselves enjoy Andrea's delicious cherry pie, even if Dean did feel a little bit curious about Benny’s words, and he knew that Sam was probably feeling the same way. Still, neither one of the brothers actually tried to find exactly whom Benny had been talking about until at least a handful of minutes later, so that it wouldn’t be obvious that Benny had mentioned anything to them.

Dean glanced around first, his curiosity finally getting the best of him, and it wasn't hard to figure out whom exactly Benny had been referring to—a young man, probably in his late 20s, with dark brown hair and a shallow beard, had his eyes fixated on Dean, and he didn’t look away when their eyes met. He was on the other side of the restaurant, sitting with two other people, who seemed to be engaged in conversation, though he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to whatever was being said at his table.

The man gave Dean a small, shy smile, hand rising just barely in an awkward, tiny little wave, like he wasn’t sure if he should be doing it in the first place.

Dean swallowed drily, giving the man a small smile in return before looking away, glancing back at his brother, who clearly could no longer keep his own curiosity at bay, because it was only about five seconds later when he, too, let his eyes scan the room around them, clearly searching their surroundings for Dean’s new admirer.

He seemed to spot the Aaron guy quickly enough, glancing back at Dean with raised eyebrows, a clear question in his eyes.

Dean just snorted at his brother, shaking his head and shoving a forkful of pie into his mouth without a word.

“I mean, he’s pretty cute,” Sam tried, giving Dean a pointed look and raising his eyebrows once more, but the expression came out a bit forced and his comment kinda sounded like a question at the end, not to mention that it was pretty ridiculous to hear those words coming out of Sam’s mouth.

Dean actually chuckled this time, almost choking on his pie. He shook his head at his brother once again, though this time in pure amusement. He lifted his hand, his forefinger pointed upwards as he prepared to make a point. “Okay, Sammy, first of all—you’re way too straight to pull that off.”

Sam huffed in amusement, smiling, but didn’t try to argue against that. He knew it was true, so instead, he simply grinned at Dean again as he probed, “But?”

“There’s no ‘but’, Sam,” Dean replied, letting his hand fall back to the table, coming to rest right beside his plate with a low, soft thud. “Okay, yeah, he is kinda cute and all, but… well, that’s it. I’m not doing anything about it.”

Sam frowned, looking truthfully confused, though not exactly surprised. “Why not?” he asked.

Dean shrugged, leaning back in his seat again and letting out another tired breath. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Sam, he really didn’t, but it truly seemed like his brother just loved to corner him into talking about his freaking feelings and having chick-flick moments, especially when Dean wasn't in the mood for that.

Well, actually, he was never in the mood for that, but... Well. You know.

Shut up.

And the thing was—Dean knew exactly why Sam was doing this right now. He knew exactly what his brother was thinking, because it was actually a pretty valid train of thought, in a way. Because while Dean didn’t feel particularly inclined to return Aaron’s attention tonight, five years ago, he would certainly not have hesitated even a single second to start flirting back, and he might have even gotten himself a partner for the night, if he worked his charm right.

Dean had gone into a bit of a phase about a year after his divorce, which had mainly consisted of going out to a bar at least three times a week to find himself a one night stand, someone to warm his bed for at least a few hours because he'd come to truly dread sleeping alone and waking up to a cold, empty bed. He wasn’t all that proud of it now, of all the nameless strangers he'd jumped into bed with—most of whom he'd never, ever seen again afterwards—but he knew now that he'd just been lashing out because of his failed marriage back then, for some reason thinking that having as much meaningless sex as he possibly could might somehow heal the gaping, bleeding wound his divorce had carved into his chest.

But he was over that phase now—had been for a while, actually. He liked to think that he'd outgrown it, that he’d matured, but he wasn’t sure what the reason for his recent lack of interest in casual sex truly was. He was just… tired of it, he guessed. And okay, yeah, he liked sex—he really, _really_ liked sex—but the last few times he'd indulged in a one night fling—which had been what, two years ago?—the whole experience had been… oddly disappointing, more like something he'd had to do other than something he'd actually enjoyed. He’d still insisted on it a few more times, though, trying to blame his dissatisfaction on not finding a good partner or something, someone that he'd actually connected with, but he'd soon come to the conclusion that that wasn't the case. No matter whom he’d spent the night with, he never felt… he just never felt that _thrill_ anymore, that spark of excitement that had made one night stands so appealing to him at one point, and instead of being enjoyable and something that Dean wished could go on and on for hours, sex had quickly turned into nothing more than a race to the finish line, all about where Dean wanted to get instead of _how_ he got there.

So for a while now, he’d completely given up on one night stands. He wondered if maybe part of him just didn’t want those flings to last only for one night, because deep down he wanted something more, an actual lasting  _relationship_ instead of a brief, meaningless night of rolling between the sheets and sleeping beside a warm body, but he also wasn’t convinced that he could even be considered dating material, especially now. He didn't want to drag anyone into the mess that his life had become; he didn't want to _burden_ anyone with his problems. He had a lot of fucking issues, and he had to freaking work those out before he even _considered_ letting anyone else into his life.

But Sam wouldn’t understand that. Or rather, maybe he would, but Dean couldn't tell him the whole truth, not to mention that the moose would probably take the fact that Dean wasn't looking for a one night stand as further reason for him to try giving this Aaron guy some attention, insisting that maybe he shouldn’t just try to get into the guy’s bed, but try to get to know him or something, maybe even go on an actual date. He could practically hear Sam’s pleading tone, as well as see the full-on puppy dog look taking over his brother's eyes as he all but begged Dean to give the guy a chance. It was clear that his brother hadn't fully believed Dean when he'd said that this whole... phase or whatever that he was currently going through wasn’t about Lisa, even if that was actually the truth.

And Dean really didn’t want to deal with any of that tonight. He’d invited Sam to have dinner with him to distract himself, to try and get himself to not worry so much about all his issues, to simply enjoy the company of his brother for a little while, because Dean felt like he didn't get to spend enough time with the overgrown moose anymore.

And he just really, _really_ didn’t want to deal with this right now.

Too bad he’d already agreed that the guy was cute. And that wasn't a lie—the guy _was_ cute, in an awkward, dorky kind of way—but now Dean was struggling to find an answer that would get Sam to leave him alone and drop the subject altogether, so he kind of wished he hadn’t agreed with Sam on that one, because if he hadn't done that, now he could just say that Aaron or whatever just wasn’t his type, and that would be it. That would have made things a whole lot easier for Dean now, at least.

“I’m just not,” Dean finally said, a weak shrug forming on his shoulders. “I just… I’m not really feeling it, that’s all.”

Sam still didn’t look convinced at all, raising an inquiring eyebrow at his brother, wordlessly asking Dean to give him a better explanation.

Dean sighed at the sight, shrugging again as he pleaded, “Can you just… leave it alone, please?”

Sam’s eyes softened a bit at his brother’s tone, turning almost sad. “Dean, I just… I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“I know, Sam,” Dean replied with a sigh. “But I’m serious. I’m not… looking for anything or anyone tonight. That’s not really what I need right now. Trust me.”

Dean could practically _feel_ how unhappy Sam was with that answer, as well as see it in the look in his eyes, but fortunately his brother did give up eventually, letting out a relenting sigh as he apparently decided to drop the matter for now, choosing to instead turn his attention back to his pie, and Dean hurried to do the same, glad for the silence that draped over the table like a warm, cozy blanket.

Too bad it didn’t last long.

“So, Jess told me you were upset that day at the bakery,” Sam commented only a handful of minutes later, by the time Dean had just begun working on his second slice of pie, “About Ben leaving this week and all.”

Dean wasn’t exactly surprised that Jess had told Sam about that. He’d known that would happen, of course, but he’d still kind of hoped that Sam wouldn’t bring it up, especially not tonight.

But clearly that had been completely pointless.

“Yeah,” Dean said, shrugging weakly. “I mean, I’m just… so used to him spending the weekend with me, you know? It's been that way for _years_ now. So tonight I was kind of dreading to go home and just... hang out alone and without him around.”

Sam’s features softened even more at those words, something very close to pity filling his eyes. Dean kinda hated it. “Is that why you invited me out tonight?”

Dean simply nodded in response, shoving yet another forkful of his pie into his mouth and choosing to remain quiet.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I was planning to invite you to come eat dinner over at my place tomorrow night.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose up to his forehead at those words, which easily betrayed his surprise. He honestly couldn't remember the last time Sam had invited him over for dinner without the excuse of wanting to see his nephew—maybe Dean's birthday? They normally saved that kind of stuff for special occasions or holidays, which explained why the first thing that came out of Dean’s mouth was, “What’s the occasion?”

Sam huffed, shaking his head, clearly trying to look offended by the question, though failing miserably at it. “No special occasion or anything, Dean," Sam shrugged. "It was Mom’s idea. Just… a family dinner, that’s all.” There was something weird about the way he said it, a hint of something that Dean couldn’t quite pinpoint coating his brother’s voice, but that he couldn't quite shake off, either.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, searching his face for something that might give away whatever it was that his brother was very clearly not saying right now, because Dean knew that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He knew Sam well enough to be able to tell when his brother was up to something.

Sam seemed to notice Dean’s attempts at reading him, though, because he was quick to give Dean his signature puppy dog look.

Dean still hesitated for a moment, a small spark of apprehension still coiling in his gut, but eventually he ended up giving in with a sigh of defeat. So what if Sam had another reason behind a family dinner, really? It would still probably distract Dean from Ben’s absence, and that was already good enough for him. And seriously, what was the worst that could happen?

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed. “What time you want me there?”

Sam’s mouth split in a victorious grin at those words, eyes sparkling in delight. He looked far too happy, but Dean chose not to try and read too much into it. “Around seven’s fine. Mom said she’ll take care of the food, so no need to bring anything.”

Dean simply nodded in response, relaxing back into his seat so he could finish his pie as he silently declared the conversation to be over, and Sam hurried to do the same.

And when they left the restaurant about fifteen minutes later, Dean didn’t spare the Aaron guy even a single glance. 

***~*~*~*~***

“Fuck. _Fuck._ Son of a _bitch!”_

Dean waved his hand vigorously through the air for a moment as he cursed out loud, before bringing it up to his lips so that he could shove the tip of his right forefinger into his mouth, hoping that would lessen the pain on the brand new burn he’d just acquired there.

That’s what he got for being too lazy to look for his oven mitts, which he’d apparently misplaced the night he’d made the homemade pizza for Ben and now couldn’t find anywhere in his kitchen.

He wasn’t stupid, though. He hadn’t tried to take the really fucking hot tray of lasagna he’d just made out of the oven with his bare hands or anything—he’d carefully wrapped his hands with a dishcloth and made sure not even a single inch of skin was exposed, thank you very much. But part of the cloth had slipped while he’d gripped the edge of the tray, and because of that, a small sliver of skin on the side of his forefinger had become vulnerable, touching the hot metal for only a second, but of course that was all it took to do the damage.

Fortunately he hadn’t dropped the tray of lasagna on the floor and ruined the dish he’d spent the last _three hours_ working on, or else he would have been really pissed.

And okay, sure, Dean knew that Sam had told him there was no need to bring anything, so it wouldn't be a complete disaster if he'd actually dropped the lasagna, since he wasn't _expected_ to show up with food tonight, but he would've been mad anyway. It wasn't often that he actually felt like cooking something, as much as he loved doing it, and he'd been very excited to try making lasagna for the first time, not to mention that he was very fucking proud of the final result.

He couldn’t help but glare at the tray for a moment while he sucked on his finger, just sitting there on the kitchen counter, slowly cooling down as a tower of fog rose up from the scalding food, slowly making its way up through the air and toward the ceiling, like there was nothing wrong in the fucking world. He scowled, as though the lasagna had just personally offended him or something, as though it was silently mocking him.

Fuck, his finger was hurting real fucking bad.

“Perhaps you should dip that in milk. I hear it helps with the pain caused by burns.”

Dean jumped in surprise, spinning his body around to face the direction that voice had come from, and because he’d left the oven door open earlier, since he had been a little busy with his burnt finger and hadn’t bothered to close it again after he'd taken the lasagna out, he felt a burst of pain shooting up his leg when his calf slammed right into the sharp edge of the door.

He huffed at the pain, grunting out a low, “Ow. _Fuck!_ ” He bent down a little, caressing the now very sore spot on the back of his leg with his hand, mustering up his best glare and focusing it on the familiar man who was now standing a few feet away from him, just lingering by the kitchen door as he frowned at Dean like he wasn’t sure what to make of the scene currently playing out right in front of his way-too-fucking-blue eyes.

At least he wasn’t laughing, or Dean would have been a little pissed.

Not that he was exactly happy right now, either. Part of him had kind of hoped that he'd been right before and that the ghost was really gone at this point, that the guy had already moved on from this apartment, since Dean hadn't seen the dude in five days, but clearly he’d been wrong to think that. Honestly, the Winchester really didn’t appreciate this whole ‘popping in and out without a pattern’ thing that the ghost seemed to have going on here. A few more of these scares and Dean would definitely start getting worried about his heart.

“You know, a little warning would be nice sometimes,” Dean pointed out, his voice sounding just a little sharper than he'd meant to, probably because of the pain. “You’re like, a walking heart attack or something. I kinda wish I could put a bell on ya.”

The words only seemed to confuse the ghost even more—and Dean was growing to really hate that word by now—whose frown deepened even more at the sound of them. He even tilted his head to the side a bit, regarding Dean with such an unwavering, unnervingly focused gaze that the man suddenly felt uncomfortable, shifting on his feet. “I apologize for startling you. It was not my intention.”

“And what the hell _was_ your intention?” Dean asked, still glaring at the guy a little as he finally closed the oven door with a loud bang. The pain in his leg was weaker by then, just a dull throbbing that was pretty easy to ignore, and at least it had been enough to make him forget about the burn on his finger, if only for a moment. But the distraction hadn't lasted long, because now his finger was hurting again, and he had to resist the urge to bring it back up to his mouth now that he knew he wasn't alone.

The ghost frowned at Dean a bit more deeply, tilting his head to the side once more, clearly still confused. “I was giving you advice on how to lessen the pain of the burn. I thought that was obvious.”

Dean opened his mouth to give the guy a sharp retort, but found that he couldn't really think of one to say right then. So he just huffed, closing his mouth shut and shaking his head at the ghost. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, turning around and walking over to the sink. “I’ll just put it under some running water. It’s fine. The burn isn’t that bad.”

And yeah, okay, he had heard about the milk thing before, and he was pretty sure that milk might actually be better than water to alleviate the pain from the burn, but Dean was grumpy and stubborn, and he didn’t want to give the ghost the satisfaction of following his advice.

Without looking at the guy—though somehow still being able to feel that the dude was watching his every move—Dean turned on the faucet on the sink and let the constant stream of water coming out of it run over his burnt skin for a minute, enjoying how it instantly lessened the pain, if only slightly. He even let out a sigh of relief before he could stop it.

“You made… lasagna?”

Dean shut off the water and turned around, only to find the ghost frowning at the tray Dean had taken out of the oven, still cooling where it currently rested on the island in the center of the kitchen, a constant cloud of fog still rising up from the dish as heat emanated from it.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “Lasagna Bolognese, actually.”

“You like to cook, I’m assuming. You made a pizza, the night your... your son's mother came over.”

Dean hesitated before responding to that. This wasn’t something he’d ever told anyone before, and his first instinct was to just brush the comment off, to snort and say a quick, dismissive, ‘Not really. I just thought I’d try it out,’ but then he caught himself wondering why he’d need to do that with this guy. It wasn’t like the ghost even knew him, so who cared if this guy judged him for liking to cook? Not to mention that he definitely wouldn’t tell anyone Dean knew about this. So really, what was the harm?

“Actually, yeah,” Dean let out before he could change his mind about it. “I mean, I don’t really do it often, but… yeah, I like it. Cooking, I mean.”

The ghost nodded, no judgment visible in his eyes as he did it, then turned his head to look down at the tray of lasagna again, and in the moment that followed, the guy said nothing. He just eyed the food in front of him with a weird look in his eyes—a... longing look, it seemed, almost sad, and Dean felt a tug at his heart when he realized what that might mean, what the most probable reason behind it was.

Ghost didn’t eat— _couldn’t_ eat, actually. The dude couldn’t even touch anything at all.

Several silent, awkward seconds passed, and Dean shifted his weight on his feet a few times, trying to find something to say to distract the guy, something that might draw his attention away from the fact that he was dead and would probably never, ever get to eat anything ever again, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

Surprisingly, the ghost was actually the one to break the silence.

“You’ll have company tonight, then, I gather?” Those blue eyes were focused on Dean again, that weird, unnerving intensity suddenly back in them, and the man found himself shifting his weight uncomfortably under that eerily blue gaze once more.

Dean shook his head, both to respond to the ghost's question and to try and shake that weird feeling off. “No, I, uh.” He cleared his throat, annoyed that his voice had actually broken, which easily gave away just how uncomfortable he was feeling in that moment. “I’m going over to my brother’s house. You know, family dinner and all. I mean, I was told _not_ to bring anything, but... I don't know." He shrugged, just a weak, tiny thing that barely even moved his shoulders at all. "I just felt like making something.”

The ghost’s eyebrows rose in understanding, and he nodded, looking back down at the food. “You have a big family?”

Dean paused again, swallowing drily, though for a completely different reason this time. His family could be a bit of a sore spot sometimes, and he had a feeling that if he allowed this conversation to go on for much longer, this guy might end up asking a question that Dean really didn’t want to answer.

And anyway, why was he even entertaining this dude right now? He had places to be, so he’d better go get ready, since he should probably leave soon, and he definitely did not want to be late. He shouldn’t be here, just casually talking to the ghost currently haunting his fucking apartment like they were buddies or something. That was just… wrong and weird.

“Not really,” he said simply, and that wasn’t exactly a lie. His extended family wasn’t small, no, but technically his blood family wasn't big at all—or at least the portion of it that he still had any contact with, anyway—so he decided to just go with that. And he didn’t want to explain anything to this guy, didn't want to give him too many details about his life and family tree, because this was really none of his fucking business, so Dean was quick to add, “Anyway, I’m gonna be late if I don’t hurry and go get ready, so…”

A look filled with something very close to disappointment flashed in the man’s eyes, but he quickly looked down, hiding his expression for a brief moment. He nodded, still refusing to look up at Dean for a few more seconds, and when he finally raised his head again to meet Dean’s eyes, that weird, frankly confusing look was completely gone. “Yes, of course,” he said, and there was something weird about his tone. His voice sounded a bit too tense, his words coming out... forced, somehow, though Dean had no idea what to make of that. “You would certainly not wish to be late to a family gathering.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, “I don’t.”

The ghost nodded again, stepping out of the way when Dean started walking toward the kitchen door, even though the man could very easily just walk through him, but maybe the guy didn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable or something. Either way, Dean gave him a small thankful nod, before walking out of the kitchen, heading down the hallway and into the bathroom without another glance behind.

He took a shower and got dressed quickly, and soon enough he was walking back into the living room, only to learn that trench coat guy hadn’t gone away, hadn't disappeared to wherever it was he went to when he wasn’t here, nor had he turned invisible. No, the ghost had simply left the kitchen and relocated to the living room, and was now standing right behind the couch, still as a statue, just staring at the TV with his head tilted to the side, a confused frown in his brows as he apparently struggled to understand what exactly was happening in the episode of Dr. Sexy MD that Dean had left on when the timer had beeped to warn him that the lasagna was ready about half an hour ago.

Dean wasn't sure what make of that scene or if he should do something about it, so he just stood there as well, simply frowning as he stared at the ghost for a long, silent moment, completely lost on what to do. The guy was apparently so distracted by the TV that he didn't even seem to realize that Dean had walked back into the room, eyes glued to the TV with unwavering attention, like he couldn't find it in himself to look away, as though he was completely mesmerized by the images playing on the screen, and that scene had Dean wondering if maybe the guy was... well, bored. It wasn't like there was much to do in this apartment, and most of the time Dean was either asleep or working, so the guy probably had nothing to do around here for endless hours every day. It really wasn't much of a surprise that he'd be this entranced by a freaking TV show.

No, what was really surprising was actually the fact that Dean felt bad for the guy, but he filed all those thoughts away for later, because right now he had a probably still pretty hot tray of lasagna to deal with, and he had to leave in a few minutes, so he didn't exactly have any time to spare. So instead of lingering around in the living room or even talking to the ghost again, Dean headed straight to the kitchen, looking around inside his cabinets for some aluminum foil so that he could cover up the still warm lasagna to get the dish ready to take it to Sam’s house. And when that was done, Dean crossed the living room without sparing the ghost even a single glance, heading back to the bathroom to finish tidying up, taming his hair and even spraying on some cologne.

And when he was finally ready to leave, Dean walked into the kitchen to grab the lasagna, and then stopped in the living room again, finally taking in the scene that greeted him there, finding that it hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been here. The ghost was still standing in the middle of the room watching TV, where another episode of Dr. Sexy MD had apparently started at some point while Dean had been getting ready. Apparently there were going to be a few reruns of the show tonight, maybe even a marathon.

Too bad Dean couldn’t stay home and watch it. He really liked that show.

Well, kind of, anyway. He just... enjoyed it sporadically, moderately. He wasn't like... a _fan_ or anything. Of course not.

Anyway...

Dean hesitated on his spot by the kitchen door, cooling tray of lasagna firmly grasped in his hands, until finally he managed to clear his throat, before letting out a low, tentative, “Hey, I’m, uh… I’m heading out.” He wasn’t sure why he said it, why he'd felt the need to warn the ghost that he was about to leave. It just felt like the right thing to do right then, as weird as that may sound.

The ghost turned around quickly at the sound of the man's voice, eyes a little wider and eyebrows raised, surprise filling his features, as though he really hadn’t noticed Dean walking into the room at all until that moment, as though Dean had actually startled him, which was a little amusing, not to mention ironic. He schooled his features back to normal quickly enough, however, nodding a bit stiffly. “Yes, of course. You have… you have fun with your family, Dean.”

Dean nodded, swallowing, before gesturing to the TV with one hand. He tried not to think too much about what he saying as he offered, “I can leave that on, if you want. I mean... You probably don’t have much to do around here, so maybe… well, maybe you won’t be bored or whatever if you have something to watch.”

The man’s eyes brightened noticeably at those words, and a small grateful smile touched the corner of the ghost’s lips. “That would be preferable, actually. That is, if you really don’t mind. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Dean waved his hand dismissively, trying to both look and sound completely nonchalant about this whole thing. “Seriously, it’s no big deal.”

The smile was still very much present in the ghost’s features as he nodded. He actually looked happy, and weirdly enough, the single sight of it was enough to make Dean's chest feel lighter. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

“Very well, then." Trench coat guy's eyes were still sparkling. He really did look grateful. "Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean nodded back at him, giving the ghost a small, awkward smile, unsure of how he should respond. He didn’t even know why exactly he was doing this. He didn’t _have_ to do it, and he knew that; he didn't need to entertain the ghost currently haunting his home. He just didn't want the guy to be bored out of his mind, and he tried not to think about it too much, tried not to examine it too closely. “I should go now, though, or else I’ll be late. So… have fun, or whatever.”

The ghost simply nodded, and with one final nod of his own, Dean walked past him, grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, and left the apartment without a single glance behind.

***~*~*~*~***

The sound of claws frantically scratching against the wooden surface of the door right in front of him filled the air as soon as Dean rang the doorbell of Sam and Jess' place, coming from inside, followed by the low, adorable sound of a happy puppy bark. Dean was already smiling even before the door was pulled open, and just a second later he found himself kneeling down so that he could pet a very excited Bones as the young Golden Retriever jumped and yapped up at him, bouncing around the man with his tail wagging so fast his entire body moved with it. Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the scene, amused by how enthusiastically the puppy always greeted him.

“ _Jesus_ , Sam. What the hell have you been feeding this dog?” he asked as he straightened back up, noticing how the puppy was a lot bigger than he remembered. Bones was only a few months old, Dean believed, and yet he was already big enough to reach the man's knees when he stood on his hind legs and stretched himself enough, patting at Dean's legs frantically with his tiny, fluffy paws. “I swear, you must have some fucking magical growth tonic or something you’ve been hiding from me for years. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Well, even if that _were_ true, I certainly wouldn’t share my secret with you, that’s for sure,” Sam replied, chuckling as well, his tone light and joking. “I like you short like this so I can make fun of you.”

Dean finally looked up at his freaking tree of a brother, glaring at him for that comment. He lifted the covered tray he was currently holding with the hand he hadn't used to pet Bones as he retorted, “Keep that up and I’m giving this to the dog.”

Sam chuckled again, a hint of amusement still obvious in his bright hazel eyes, though he hurried to lift his hands in a sign of surrender. He did grab the food from Dean's hands a bit _too_ fast, though, almost like he was afraid that his brother might actually follow through with that promise, which only amused the older Winchester brother, a small, fond smile bleeding into his lips because of it.

When they walked further into the house, Dean noticed their mother was already there, and he greeted both her and Jess with a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek when he walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, you brought something? You didn't have to! What did you bring?” Jess asked, eyeing the covered tray Sam was gently placing on the counter, a spark of curiosity clear in her eyes. “That smells good!”

“Lasagna,” Dean replied, “Bolognese.”

“Oh, that sounds great.” Jess smiled as she hurried over to the kitchen island, gently pulling the foil cover off the tray and staring down at the still a little bit warm lasagna. Her smile widened even more as she announced, “Wow. Seriously, this smells amazing, Dean! And it doesn’t even look store-bought, either. Where did you get it?”

“Yeah, I need to know _exactly_ where that came from,” Mary commented with a chuckle, glancing over at the dish with a teasing smile, though Dean knew she wasn't actually joking; she really wanted to know. Mary didn't cook—like, _at all—_ and when Sam had told Dean that Mary would be handling the food, he'd already known that meant she would be buying everything and bringing it over, and that would be it.

Dean paused, scratching at the back of his head nervously as he hesitated to answer, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with all the eyes in the room suddenly focused on him, waiting for a response. This was the moment he’d been dreading, the moment he'd been imagining over and over again in his head and that had almost made him give up on his idea of cooking something to bring here tonight. He knew bringing something he’d made himself might raise a few questions he really didn't want to answer, and while he had prepared mentally for this, he still found it extremely hard to push any words out of his mouth.

“I didn’t buy it,” he finally said, voice coming out a bit croaked and weird, but he didn't let that stop him. “I, uh… I made it.”

The three pairs of curious eyes didn't move away from him, of course, and instead, they were quickly flooded with surprised looks, eyebrows rising almost simultaneously a few inches above them. Honestly, if Dean wasn’t so terribly uncomfortable under those inquiring gazes, he would have found the scene comical, because it actually did look like something right out of a freaking sitcom.

Instead, he swallowed drily, shifting on his spot, absolutely _hating_  to be on the receiving end of all that attention, instantly regretting not having tried to tell them that he’d just bought the lasagna instead, because maybe that would have been better. It certainly would have been easier, anyway.

“I didn’t know you cooked.” Sam was the one who said it, and his voice was laced with surprise more than anything else. There wasn’t any judgment in it as far as Dean could tell, but he didn’t allow his muscles to relax just yet.

Dean shrugged sheepishly, not really wanting to make a big deal out of this. Actually, that was the very _opposite_ of what he wanted. “I can cook, I just... don't do it often. I, uh... I wanted to bring something tonight, and I kinda felt like making something instead of just buying it, I guess. And I just followed a recipe, that’s all. No secret to it.”

It was clear by the looks on everyone’s faces that they didn’t quite believe those words, that they disagreed with him and maybe even wanted to argue, or at least comment further on the matter, but something must have showed on Dean's face—how uncomfortable he was, perhaps—because they all seemed to drop the subject just a short moment later, giving him slow, careful nods and weak shrugs. He wasn’t convinced that he was completely off the hook and that they wouldn’t try to bring this up again later tonight, but at least for now the spotlight seemed to be off of him, and that was already enough to have Dean’s shoulders relaxing again, some of the tension finally fading from his muscles.

Dean helped Jess place the now uncovered lasagna into the very much warm oven, so that the dish would be heated up again and ready to eat in just a few minutes. She’d baked some garlic bread for the occasion, and the fact that Dean hadn't been the only one who'd felt the need to make something for tonight's dinner made him feel just a tiny bit better. The smell from the garlic bread was still strong inside the oven, considering Jess had taken it out of there only a few minutes prior, and it seemed to fill the air as soon as they opened the door, making Dean’s mouth water in just a matter seconds.

When the lasagna was ready to go, Dean offered to take it to the dining room, where he learned that the table had already been set. Jess and Sam started to rearrange a few of the warm dishes that currently rested on top of it, which consisted mainly of several trays and bowls filled with different kinds of food, including white rice, two types of salad, what Dean assumed to be mashed potatoes, ribs, some roasted chicken and a rather big tray of cappelletti. The smell from all that food was rather strong, heavy in the air of the dining room, and Dean just stood there for a moment, breathing it in and feeling a spark of hunger coming to life within in as he took in the sight of the vast meal while Jess and Sam tried to make some space for the lasagna.

They had just managed to carve out the perfect spot, placing the tray right at the center of the table, when Dean realized something.

There were five plates on the table, a knife, fork and a carefully folded up napkin sitting on top of each one, just waiting for someone to take a seat right in front of it.

Dean frowned when he noticed it, then glanced around the room, making sure that he wasn't insane or that he hadn't miscounted how many people were there, but no, there were four of them.

"Why are there five plates?" he asked, and he didn’t miss the way everyone around him seemed to tense up at the question, as though they were all caught completely by surprise and didn't know how to answer it.

He frowned at their weird, almost synchronized reactions, and he was about to inquire about it when the doorbell rang.

Dean's frown deepened even more at the sound of it, and he turned his head to look at the others again, expecting to find matching expressions of confusion on their faces, but he was even more intrigued when he realized that wasn’t exactly the case. The three still looked tense, and they exchanged a look, a loaded, meaningful thing that only confused Dean even more. They looked almost... nervous, and Dean honestly had no idea what that could mean, but suddenly he remembered how weird Sam had acted last night, and he realized that apparently his brother had really kept something from him when he'd invited Dean here tonight.

And for some reason, Dean suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

“Who is that?” he questioned, “You guys expecting someone else?”

There was another exchange of glances between the other three occupants of the room, and Dean became even more annoyed because of it. It really seemed like everyone else was in on a secret that Dean was completely oblivious to, like they were intentionally keeping him out of the loop for some reason, and while he had no idea what that secret could possibly be, he was the very opposite of happy about it.

“I’ll answer it,” Mary was quick to announce, and both Sam and Jess nodded at her—a bit too enthusiastically, Dean noticed, eyes a bit too wide, too urgent.

But Dean was having none of it.

“No, I can go," he was quick to offer, taking a step toward the door that would take him to the entrance hall. "You guys just—”

“No, dear, it’s okay,” his mother insisted, stepping in front of him quickly, forcing him to stop walking, and that was all the proof Dean needed to know for sure that there really was something fishy going on here. He gave his mother a look, making his annoyance clear, but she just shook her head at him, giving him a forced smile. “I’ll take care of it, honey. Don't worry.” And before Dean could protest, she was already walking out of the room, disappearing from sight, leaving a confused (and very frustrated) Dean behind.

He turned to look at Sam and Jess as soon as she was gone, lifting his eyebrows at the pair, giving them a pointed look. “Okay, would anyone care to explain what the _hell_ is going on here?”

“We’re, uh… we’re expecting someone else to join us tonight.” Sam sounded oddly nervous as he said it, and Dean couldn’t help but frown at his brother in confusion.

“Okay,” Dean said slowly, carefully, failing to understand why everyone looked so nervous and uncomfortable because of something like that. It was almost like they were all afraid of how Dean would react to finding out that they would have company tonight, which sounded pretty ridiculous.

Unless…

“Is Mom seeing anyone right now? Fuck, don’t tell me it’s Ketch. Please, _please,_ tell me it's not Ketch.” Dean hated that guy. Like, he really, _really_ hated that guy, and he’d been so relieved when Mary had broken things off with him after that piece of dirt cheated on her, and then so absolutely freaking _thrilled_ when the damn weasel had moved back to England only a few weeks later, that Dean had very nearly thrown a fucking party to celebrate. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was that guy coming back to bother them again.

“No, no,” Sam hurried to say, hands rising in front of his chest to show his own urgency at correcting Dean. “It’s not Ketch, Dean. Of course not. And I mean, it's not anyone Mom’s seeing, either. I don't think she's even seeing anyone right now.”

Dean was very relieved to learn that whoever would be joining them for dinner wasn't Ketch, but he was still confused. This was supposedly a family dinner, or at least that's what Sam had told him, anyway, so if their Mom hadn’t invited some new boyfriend to meet them, then who the hell was at the door?

He could hear Mary talking lowly, word muffled by the walls and distance that separated the dining room from the entrance hall, so Dean couldn’t make out what exactly she was saying, nor could he understand what was being said to her in response. The second voice sounded masculine, though Dean didn't recognize it, but then again, he couldn't exactly hear it clearly.

“Then who is it?” he asked again, patience already wearing pretty thin. Honestly, if he didn't get an acceptable answer in the next few seconds, Dean might actually just storm out of the dining room and go out there to find out the truth himself.

Sam and Jess exchanged yet another worried glance, obviously still refusing to give Dean a straight answer.

And _that_ , right there, was the last freaking straw. 

With an annoyed huff, Dean shook his head at them and turned on his heels, finally losing his patience and deciding that he would just have to figure this one out on his own.

“Dean, wait!” Sam called out after him, and Dean could hear both his brother and Jess scrambling to follow him as he darted out of the room, though neither one of the two actually tried to stop Dean from walking, so he just ignored them as he crossed the living room in a few quick, big strides, heading straight for the entrance hall.

And when the open front door finally came into view, Dean came to an abrupt stop, eyes widening in shock at the sight that greeted him. For a moment, he was frozen, mind struggling to understand what was happening—or rather, _why_ it was happening.

Because standing right outside the door, just a few feet away from Dean, was none other than John Winchester.

John had changed—that was the first thing Dean noticed. He’d obviously aged—and considering Dean hadn’t seen the guy in almost a whole decade, it was definitely no surprise that it was so easy for him to notice that. The toll all that time had taken on the man was made incredibly obvious by the grey that now peppered his once completely black hair, as well as the beard that he had apparently decided to grow, which only made him look even older. He looked tired, like the years had worn him out somehow, lines marking his skin in places where they hadn’t been before, making his eyes look even heavier than normal, and the sight had Dean tensing up unconsciously, for some reason he didn't entirely understand.

“Sam, Dean,” John said, nodding at them slowly, eyes jumping from each of his sons’ faces at the sound of each name. His voice was rougher, hoarser, having at some point lost its strength, and Dean briefly wondered if the change had happened because of the alcohol. He was pretty sure that had to be it. “And you must be Jessica,” John added, the tiniest hint of a smile touching his lips as his eyes landed on the blonde, who had come to stand right beside Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

The air in the small room seem to grow considerably heavier as soon as those words were out of Dean’s mouth, but he didn’t regret saying them at all.

“I, uh…” John cleared his throat, voice failing a bit, which was certainly a new thing coming from him. He looked lost, hesitant even, much like he’d been at Sam’s graduation, though somehow, this seemed like... more, closer to how a spooked animal might act in a completely new environment. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was far too weird to see it, unsettling, even.

John glanced at Mary for a second, hesitation clear in everything about his stance, before he turned his head back to meet Dean’s eyes again. There was a weird conviction in the man's eyes all of a sudden, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed the confident front he was apparently trying to maintain. “Mary…  invited me over for dinner to… well, try and… talk.”

Dean was still very confused, and he made no effort to hide it as he asked, “Why?”

“Because I invited him to the wedding.”

Dean turned his head to give Sam a surprised look, frowning at his brother as he wondered if Sam had somehow lost his freaking mind, if all those extra hours he'd been spending over at the Sandover office had somehow fried his gigantic brain, because there was just no other explanation for this.

Sam met his gaze with an unwavering, confident look that only made Dean even more confused. He knew that look all too well, of course, having seen it over a thousand times before—Sam usually resorted to it when the two of them were having an argument and he wanted to let Dean know that had absolutely no intention of backing down—but to Dean, that look seemed almost misplaced in that moment; it seemed, well, _wrong_ , because they shouldn't be disagreeing on anything right now. He really didn’t understand what was happening here.

However, the next thing that came out of Dean's mouth was probably not what everyone was expecting. He didn’t ask why Sam had invited John to the wedding, or what he was doing here, or even why Dean been invited to this dinner tonight if John was going to be here, because suddenly something else became clear in Dean’s mind, and he couldn’t quite push that particularly nagging thought away.

They’d planned this. They’d invited him here tonight without telling him about John because they _knew_ how he'd react.

“And why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?” he demanded, fixing Sam with an annoyed glare, even if he already knew the answer to that question. He just wanted to hear them say it.

“Because we knew you wouldn’t come if you knew,” Sam replied easily, without a moment of hesitation. It sounded like he’d already thought all of this through, like he’d already rehearsed how this conversation would go in his mind, which for some reason only made Dean even madder.

But Sam did have a point—Dean really wouldn’t have come if he’d known the real reason behind this family dinner, because he really didn’t want to deal with this on top of everything else that was going on in his life right now. But, well, his family just had to freaking throw him under the bus on this one, didn't they?

Everyone was looking at him, the silence that hung in the air around them feeling heavier by the second, and suddenly Dean felt suffocated, wanting to get away from all that attention. He felt oddly tired, and suddenly he realized that he didn't have the strength to start a fight about this, and he didn't _want_ to fight with his family, no matter what they had done. With everything that was going on in his life, even more fucking drama was truly the last thing Dean needed, and so he just swallowed whatever words were trying to climb their way up his throat in that moment and let out a breath, nodding tensely to himself.

“I’ll go finish up in the kitchen,” he said suddenly, voice coming out sharp and dry. "You guys just... go on and get started without me, or whatever.”

He turned around without waiting for a response, walking over to the door that led back to the living room without another word, ignoring all the looks he knew he was getting as he brushed past both Sam and Jess and not stopping even when he heard his mother let out a low, pleading, “Dean…”

And Dean knew that this wasn't the best way to deal with the problem, that running away from the situation wouldn't make it magically disappear, and that he would have to deal with it at some point tonight—and sooner rather than later, much to his dismay—but he was more than happy to ignore it for just a few minutes. He just wanted to be alone for a moment and fucking _breathe._

Only his moose of a brother followed him to the kitchen, because of course he did. Dean rolled his eyes as soon as he noticed it, huffing as he walked over to the kitchen island, grabbing all the empty bags and food containers that had probably held all the food their mother had brought, deciding he might as well make himself useful, getting busy with cleaning up a bit. He just wanted to do _something_.

Sam didn't say anything at first, instead choosing to just hover awkwardly by the door with his arm crossed over his chest, simply watching Dean work, apparently waiting for his brother to break the silence.

But Dean wouldn’t bite, and when all the trash was dealt with, Dean simply sidestepped the gigantic moose as he walked over to the sink, rearraging the dirty dishes he found there and adding the ones he'd gathered around the kitchen to the small pile, turning on the faucet to let some water run over everything, filling bowls and plates with it so they could soak for a little bit. The sound of voices, nearly constant and muffled, traveled into the kitchen coming from somewhere else in the house—probably the dining room, Dean reasoned—but it was nearly impossible to make out the words that were being said over there, so Dean didn’t even try.

It was only when he shut off the water that Sam finally said anything.

“Dean…”

“Don’t,” Dean snapped, shaking his head, finally turning to face his brother. “If you really want to talk, then how about you explain to me how the _hell_ you’re so okay with this? Last I checked you hated the guy, Sam! And now you’re inviting him to your wedding and hosting a freaking family dinner for him? Seriously, what the _fuck?”_

Sam shook his head, jaw clenching a few times, which made it clear that he was annoyed by what he’d just heard. Dean couldn’t really understand why. “Dean, don’t you think this has already gone a bit too far?”

Dean scoffed, “What are you talking about?”

“This… whatever this is between you and Dad. You’ve been at it for what, twenty years now? Don’t you think it’s time you move past that?”

“Is that what you’ve done? Moved past it?”

Sam paused, then shrugged. “I like to think so, yeah.”

Dean scoffed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “So suddenly, everything he put us through, everything he put _Mom_ through, is just... forgiven and forgotten? Just like that?”

“No, Dean, that's not...” Sam shook his head, huffing. He seemed to be having trouble choosing the right words to say. “I’m not saying that we should all just… forgive him for everything and welcome him back into the family with open arms. Trust me, I don’t want that right now either. I’m just saying that maybe we should… try to talk to him. It’s been _two_ decades, Dean. Don’t you think that maybe… maybe it’s been long enough?”

Dean took in a breath, then let it out slowly, looking away from his brother, struggling with what to do, with what to _think_.

"I mean, he's obviously changed," Sam insisted when he seemed to decide Dean had been silent for far too long.

"You don't know that," Dean replied quickly, without a thought.

"Well, then how the hell can we find out for sure if we don't even talk to the guy?" Sam pleaded, "If we don't try to get to know him again? I mean, what's the harm in just... hearing him out?"

Dean wasn’t happy about this—he wasn’t happy about it at all, in fact, especially because no one had even thought they should freaking _warn_ him that his father would be here tonight, and he’d really have appreciated a freaking heads-up, but he had to admit that maybe Sam had a point. Listening to what the guy wanted to say to them wouldn’t hurt, and they'd had this weird, tense relationship with their father for over twenty years now, so it would be a relief to be rid of all that damn, suffocating awkwardness that instantly filled the air whenever they saw each other.

John _was_ their father, anyway. Maybe they owed him a second chance or whatever.

And if he hadn't changed, well, then Dean could just go back to pretending the man didn't exist.

But he was still not exactly thrilled about this.

“Fine,” Dean relented. “I’ll try to talk to him tonight. But I'm still not happy about this.”

“That’s all I’m asking of you,” Sam assured him, letting out a relieved breath.

Dean sighed, grabbing a dishcloth from the kitchen island and drying off his hands with it, then dropping it back onto the wooden top, deciding he was done with this conversation. "Let's just get this over with, then," he said, gesturing for Sam to lead the way. His entire body was tense, and all he wanted to do was just make a run for the front door when no one was looking, but Dean forced himself to follow his brother out of the kitchen and toward the dining room.

A thought occurred to him as he walked, and he had to hold back a humorless chuckle because of it.

All of a sudden, hanging out with a freaking ghost didn't sound like such a bad way to spend his Saturday night.

***~*~*~*~***

Unsurprisingly, dinner was awkward as hell.

His dear family really was plotting against him, it seemed, considering the way they'd arranged themselves at the table before Dean even had a chance to choose a seat for himself. Mary had quickly claimed the seat right beside John, and Sam had taken the seat right across from her, with Jess sitting by his side, on his left. And that had left four empty seats—the two at the opposite ends of the table, the one beside Mary and the one right across from John.

But of course the only one of those options that already had a plate sitting on the table in front of it was the one across from his father, which left Dean with two choices on how to proceed. One, he could just suck it up and take that seat, or two, he could take his plate and relocate, choosing one of the other three empty seats, though the second option would make it very obvious that he did not want to sit anywhere near John.

So in the end, Dean ended up taking the high road and acting like an adult, wordlessly taking the seat right across from his father, which made it incredibly hard to avoid talking or making eye contact with the man from then on, considering he was constantly just _right there_.

And obviously, conversation was tense all throughout dinner, but at least everyone seemed to be making an effort to leave Dean mostly out of it, so he didn’t really need to participate much. But the thing was—John kept trying to make conversation with him, which was the most annoying part of this whole thing. Dean kept giving him short, dry answers, simple and curt, and at some point, his father seemed to finally take the hint, apparently deciding it would be better to keep the focus of the conversation on Sam instead.

“So, Sandover, huh?” John asked with an excited twinkle in his eyes. He almost looked proud, which had something weird and acidic twisting in Dean’s gut, churning in a very unpleasant way. He decided not to look too closely at it. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“Well, it is,” Sam replied with a shrug, like always, trying to make his job not sound like such a big deal. “I mean, it’s a big company, so there’s a lot of work to do, a lot of problems to solve in the legal department.”

“I would imagine so, yes,” John nodded, shoveling yet another forkful of lasagna into his mouth, before he turned his head to fix his gaze on Dean.

So much for keeping his focus on Sam.

“So, Dean,” John’s voice was gentle, tentative, and it really wasn’t that hard to figure out why. Out of all the people at that table, Dean was clearly the unhappiest one with John’s presence, as well as the least willing to start up any sort of friendly conversation with him. “Your mother tells me you’re working as a mechanic.”

This was probably the tenth time John had tried to start up a conversation with Dean, and the saddest part of it was that John didn't even seem to realize what a bad decision he'd just made. Because if there was something Dean _did not_ want to talk about right now, it was his job.

So Dean chewed his food slowly as he nodded, not really finding it in himself to give the man an actual verbal answer, but apparently that wasn’t enough for John, because the guy just kept _staring_ , waiting for him to say something. So Dean swallowed, shrugging. “Yeah,” he said simply, doing his best to sound nonchalant and uninterested, filling his fork with lasagna and hating that he wasn't getting the chance to really appreciate how fucking delicious the dish had turned out. “For a few years now.” He shoved another forkful into his mouth, wordlessly declaring the topic over.

His father didn’t seem pleased with the answer, and his face even fell a little when Dean made it clear that he was done with that conversation, but Dean couldn’t really find it himself to care, or to feel bad about it.

Fortunately, though, John seemed to give up on that subject soon enough, looking back down at his plate. He played a bit with his food, pushing it around the plate with his fork, until finally he cleared his throat. “Well, this lasagna is amazing. Did you start cooking by any chance, Mary?” His tone was suddenly light, joking, but Dean found it a bit forced, the man's shoulders a bit too stiff. Clearly the awkwardness of this whole thing was getting to him as well.

Mary laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m still an absolute disaster in the kitchen. That hasn’t changed. Nearly everything on this table was bought, except for Jess' garlic bread and, of course, the lasagna. Dean made that one, actually.”

John’s eyebrows rose at those words, and he turned his head to give Dean a surprised look. He opened his mouth, but then closed it shut quickly, swallowing whatever words he’d been about to say before they could actually jump from his lips. He cleared his throat, face earning a calmer expression, more controlled, and he commented casually, “That’s, uh… I’m pleasantly surprised. I mean, this is… this is very good.”

Dean was suddenly glad his mouth was still full with the latest bite of food he’d just shoved into it, so he had a moment to try and figure out how the hell he was supposed to respond to that. He chewed slowly, trying to find the right words to say, and when he finally swallowed, all that came out of his mouth was an uncomfortable, uncertain, “Thanks.”

John looked like he'd been expecting more than that, and when no more words came from Dean, his face fell once again. But he recovered quickly, clearing his throat again and moving his food around on his plate for another beat. “And... what's going on with you, Dean?”

Dean swallowed again, albeit drily this time. "What do you mean?" he asked, already dreading whatever question was about to come out of his father’s mouth, even if he had no idea what to expect from the man right now. He just knew he wouldn’t like it, whatever it was.

John played with his food a little more, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Well, Sam is getting married soon, so I can’t help but wonder… Well, you didn’t bring anyone with you tonight, and I don’t see a ring, so…”

The question lingered in the air, heavy and loaded, and Dean felt a spark of annoyance come to life within him, because that was definitely not a subject he wanted to discuss with John right now. He should have expected it, though; he had to admit it. Of course John would ask about _that._

“I’m divorced,” he replied, and watched his father's eyebrows rise up to his forehead in surprise. “So I don’t exactly have anyone to bring to a family dinner.”

“Well, except for Ben.”

Dean froze, eyes widening as he sent his mother a surprised look, because he certainly hadn’t expected that comment from her. He'd had no intention of bringing up Ben tonight, but he had to admit that he should have expected someone else to do it for him. It’d been just a matter of time, so he should have been prepared for it.

But he wasn’t, and it actually took John turning to give him a confused look and ask a curious, “Ben?” with a frown firmly placed in his brows and a weird look in his eyes for Dean to snap out of it.

Dean swallowed drily again, feeling terribly uncomfortable under that weirdly focused gaze. He really didn't like the way John was looking at him, a hint of something in his eyes that Dean didn't want to examine too closely, because he knew what his father was thinking, knew the first thought that had probably crossed the man's mind after hearing Mary's words, and he really didn't like John's reaction to it. Dean's throat felt oddly dry all of a sudden, tongue heavy in his mouth, but somehow, he still managed to push a few words past his lips. “Yeah, my son.”

Surprise flooded John’s features, his eyes widening, mouth falling open, though no sound came out of it for a while. He seemed to be struggling to find his voice again, and it actually took him quite some time to finally recover from the shock of learning that he was a grandfather. But after what must have been over a minute of blinking at Dean like he had forgotten how to freaking function as a human being, John finally managed to form words again. “Son? You have a…? You mean that I’m a…?” The man's voice was filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief, and he still didn’t seem able to let out a full sentence at that point, so Dean finally took pity on him.

“Yeah. Got a girlfriend pregnant at 21, we got married because of the baby, and then we were divorced two years later. We share custody of him now, and I have him on the weekends, but last Wednesday my ex-wife took Ben on a trip because of summer break. They won’t be back for a few weeks.” He decided not to mention the fact that Lisa was getting married again, or that the trip was actually a visit to the guy’s family ranch, because John definitely did not need to know any of that.

“Well, I… I’d really like to meet him,” John croaked out, and Dean was actually taken aback by the truly pleading look that took over his father’s eyes then, like he was actually afraid that Dean might not allow him to meet his grandson.

The words got stuck in Dean's throat for a moment, because at first he wasn’t sure how he should respond to the request. He couldn’t keep John from meeting Ben now that the man knew the boy existed, Dean knew that, but he also wasn’t happy with the idea of letting his son get attached to someone as volatile and unpredictable as his father, someone who had done so much to hurt Dean, Sam and their mother in the past.

Still, it wasn’t like this supposed meeting would happen tomorrow. They still had over two weeks until Ben got back from the ranch, over two weeks for Dean to try to get used to that idea, or to try to find a way to get out of it, if he changed his mind about this. So he ended up nodding in the end, letting out a low, “Yeah, sure.”

Everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief at that, and it was only then that Dean realized the rest of the table seemed have been holding their breaths in anticipation as they'd awaited his answer. He chose not to comment on it, though, looking down at his plate, distracting himself by filling his fork with some rice.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean looked up at the sound of his father's voice, frowning at the clear waver he could hear in it, and he was surprised to find such a heavy look in John's eyes. His expression was so honestly open, so obviously _relieved_ , eyes practically _shining._ Dean wasn't sure how to process it.

John didn't seem to be expecting a response, though, because only a moment later, he cleared his throat, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I just… I haven’t seen you boys in so long, and now…” He looked over at Sam, a watery smile forming on his lips. “Now you’re getting married, and you, Dean," He looked at his eldest son, smile still firmly in place, "You have a _son_ , and I just… I missed out on so much.”

“Not our fault,” Dean was quick so retort.

“ _Dean_ ,” Mary scolded him, a warning clear in her voice.

John blinked, and Dean saw him swallow drily, face falling a little, that small hint of a smile that had formed on his lips fading quickly, mouth shaping back into a thin, straight line.

Dean almost felt bad.

Almost.

Stiffly, John nodded. “No, Mary, he’s right. He has a point. It… it is my fault. I’m the one who broke up our family. I’m the one who… who made it all fall apart.”

Dean wished he could say that he felt better after hearing that, that hearing John admit to being the one to blame for everything had suddenly removed a suffocating weight from his chest, but that wasn't the case. He'd wished to hear those words for _years_ , but now that John had actually said them to his face, Dean didn't feel better at all, and he had no idea why.

John turned to fix his gaze on Dean, and the look in his eyes was loaded again, so much heavier than Dean had expected. He wasn't sure what to make of it. “But I’m trying to make it better now. I’m _trying_ to… to make amends, to put it all in the past.”

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy."

John nodded again. “I know that. And I’m not… asking you—any of you,” He glanced around the table once, before fixing his eyes back on Dean, “To just… forgive everything I did. I hate myself for what I did to you, to all of you, and I... I wish I could take it back, I really do. But I can't. I can't... fix the past, I can't change what I did, but I can... I can try to... to be better now. I've changed." He swallowed again, eyes pleading, voice breaking a little when he added, "I’m just asking you to give me a _chance.”_

The raw honesty Dean could hear in his father’s voice had him pausing, rendering the younger man completely quiet for a moment, unsure of how to respond to John's confession. He hadn’t expected to hear something like that from him at all, such heartfelt, regretful, guilt-filled words, but it was still hard for him to fully swallow the anger that suddenly made itself known within his chest, bubbling up to the surface without a warning.

“Why, though?” Dean snapped, a sharp edge bleeding into his voice. “You went over a fucking decade without even bothering to know how we were doing or what we were going through. And now all of a sudden you want to make amends? Why _now?”_

John shook his head again, letting out a sigh. His shoulder's slumped at his sides, making him look... smaller somehow. He suddenly looked tired. “Again, I know I’m in the wrong here. I waited way too long, and I know that. But I was… I was afraid you’d shut me out. You did push me away, actually, the few times I did reach out.”

Dean huffed, annoyed that his father was trying to blame this on him. “But now all of a sudden you think a family dinner and a wedding will fix everything? And let me guess: when all of this is over, you’ll just go right back to your other family and pretend we don’t exist for another decade. Or am I wrong?”

John flinched at those words, grimacing, as though they actually pained him somehow. “Actually… I’m not going back. I’m… I’m moving here.”

A tense, heavy silence took over the room as soon as those words were out in the open, but as Dean looked at all the other faces around him, taking in their calm, controlled expressions (although they did look pretty uncomfortable, not to mention nervous), he realized no one looked particularly surprised to hear that announcement.

So apparently they’d kept him in the dark about that one as well.

Awesome.

“Kate and I, we… we thought Adam would be going to KU, so we didn’t plan to move away from Lawrence, since we would be relatively close to him there. But he got into Stanford, and while South Dakota isn’t exactly close to California either, we… well, we aren't particularly attached to Kansas anymore, and moving here meant being close to all of you instead, so... I decided to give it a shot.”

So at the end of the day, this _was_ about Adam. With John, everything was always about _freaking_ _Adam_.

Dean huffed in annoyance as that thought registered in his mind, but he chose not to comment on it right now. He had a feeling no one would be exactly happy with him if he did, as he could practically feel all the eyes on him, silently begging him to just let it go, to not start a fight, so he just sighed, looking back down at his plate, angrily stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.

“You already know when you’re moving?” Sam asked, breaking the tense silence that had filled the room.

John's voice sounded weird when he replied, almost choked, but Dean didn't lift his head to try and read the expression on his father's face. “About two weeks from now.”

Well, wasn’t that just fan-freaking-tastic.

Dean went back to eating his food then, avoiding everyone else’s eyes as he did it, deciding that he just wanted this damn conversation to be over.

As if reading his mind, Sam piped up just a few seconds later, capturing everyone's attention with yet another story about all the drama that was going on over at Sandover—apparently that whole thing with the CEO's missing son really was a big deal—clearly trying to steer the conversation in a lighter, less dangerous direction.

And Dean was really fucking glad for it.

***~*~*~*~***

The rest of dinner was incredibly awkward, just as expected, and Dean was about ready to leave as soon as he was done helping with the dirty dishes. Normally, he would love the chance to hang out with Sam, Jess and his Mom after dinner, and maybe even play with Bones a little, but honestly, he couldn't wait to be out of that house, and when it became obvious that John didn't intend to leave right away, Dean decided to take the first chance he got to slip out that door.

But Sam followed him to the entrance hall, claiming that he just wanted to walk Dean to the front door and say goodbye to him there, but of course Dean had been able to tell that was nothing but bullshit right away, and he wasn’t even a tiny bit surprised when his brother shared with him what the moose clearly thought was a brilliant idea to bring their family back together, so that they could all ride off into the sunset, riding on rainbow-farting unicorns or something.

“A barbecue?” Dean asked, voice just a weak whisper so that the other occupants of the house wouldn't be able to hear his voice all the way in the living room.

“Yeah. I mean, we can invite everyone—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, the whole deal. And, I mean, then Dad can meet Ben, and we can finally meet Adam.”

There were a lot of problems with that plan, and Dean had an endless string of complaints he wanted to voice right then, all of them quickly climbing their way up his throat and clinging to the very tip of his tongue, but he swallowed all of them back. He’d been doing that a lot tonight, it seemed.

“I’ll think about it,” Dean replied simply, deciding he really didn't want to fight with his brother about this right now. He was way too tired for it.

Fortunately, Sam didn’t try to argue, didn’t try to convince his brother to agree to his idea right away. He knew Dean well enough to know that his brother wouldn’t respond well to anything out of his comfort zone after what had happened here tonight, so pushing him any more than Sam already had right now would do the opposite of helping his case. Dean needed time to cool off, and his brother knew that.

So Sam simply nodded, muttering a low goodbye to Dean as his brother walked out the door, his clean, empty tray tucked under his arm.

The drive home passed in a bit of a haze. Honestly, Dean didn’t really remember it—he’d been so distracted, his mind plagued with a constant replay of that disastrous dinner, that he’d gone into automatic-pilot mode, absentmindedly guiding his car through the streets until he finally reached his building. His mind had drifted so far away that he was actually surprised when he realized he’d arrived at his destination, with no recollection of actually getting there.

And as soon as Dean walked inside his apartment, he made a beeline for the kitchen, fetching as many beer bottles as he could carry at once from the fridge and cursing himself for not having bothered to buy anything stronger recently. After the little breakdown he’d had when he received Lisa’s wedding invitation, he'd drunk his entire stock of whiskey, and then he’d vowed to himself that he wouldn't keep stuff that strong in his apartment anymore.

Ironically enough, one of the reasons why he’d made that decision had been because he didn't want to end up like his father, drinking all of his problems away until he passed out.

But now he kinda wished there was something stronger than beer around here.

There was nothing he could do about that now, though, because he sure as hell didn't feel like going to the store, so simple ol’ beer would have to do. He placed the bottles on the coffee table, then grabbed one and opened it with his hand, before finally letting himself fall onto the couch with a heavy breath, followed by a pained groan. He could already feel a pretty bad headache coming on.

Great. Just what he needed.

What had been supposed to be nothing more than a calm, relaxing family night had turned into a freaking _nightmare_.

“Are you okay?”

Dean jumped, almost dropping the beer he’d had cradled in his hand. He cursed out loud as he turned his head to find the source of that voice, and of course, of _fucking_ course, the damn fucking ghost was standing right behind the fucking couch, as if he actually fucking _lived_ here or something.

Dean _so_ did not want to deal with this right now.

So he just huffed, shaking his head as he turned back around, completely ignoring the ghost’s question and bringing the bottle up to his mouth to take a big gulp from his beer.

But apparently the guy really wanted to annoy Dean tonight. Or he just couldn't take a fucking hint.

“Did something happen with your family?” The question was tentative, careful, the sound of the man’s voice still coming from right behind Dean, but the man didn’t bother to turn around and look at the ghost again. He really didn’t want to deal with this. After the night he’d had, this was really the last thing he needed.

He just wanted to be alone and drink himself stupid. Was that too much to ask?

“Why the hell do you care?” he snapped.

There was a short pause before the ghost spoke again. “You seem upset,” he pointed out.

This time Dean did turn his head to look at the guy, giving him an annoyed glare. “Yeah, thanks, Sherlock. That’s because I _am_ upset.”

The ghost was clearly surprised by Dean's harsh, sharp tone, and his face fell a little. "I... I'm sorry," he said, voice sounding oddly low and small. He actually sounded sad, which was just fucking ridiculous. "I just thought—"

"You thought what?" Dean demanded just as sharply as before, and the ghost jumped a bit at the man's tone, eyes widening even more in surprise, before a slight frown formed in his brows.

But Dean didn't let that stop him.

"That you'd ask me what was wrong and I'd just tell you all about my problems? That I'd crack open a beer, kick back on the couch and start talking to you about my life, and you'd somehow become my own personal shrink? Well, newsflash, pal. You're not my shrink, much less my friend! You're just some creepy ass guy lurking around my apartment that just won't go away. And guess what? I don't want you here. Every day when I wake up, I hope that's the day I find out you're gone! So why don't you make my life a lot easier and go all invisible girl, so I can pretend you're not here!"

If possible, the ghost's face fell even more at those words, and he flinched every time Dean's voice became just a bit louder during his speech. He actually looked sad now, almost hurt, shoulders slumping at his sides as he stared at Dean like the man had just kicked his freaking puppy or something.

At any other time, Dean would have felt bad for him, he really would, but in that moment, he didn't really care. He couldn't find it in himself to care. So he just stood up, grabbed his beer and stormed out of the room without sparing the damn ghost even a second glance, just walking right past the guy and into the hallway, slamming his bedroom door shut loudly behind himself and locking it, even if that didn't actually do anything helpful.

And before any unwanted thoughts had a chance to catch up to him, before Dean could actually process any of the guilt, or the sadness, or the hurt, or the  _anger_  he could feel bubbling up inside of him in that moment, he did the only thing he knew would send it all away.

He drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs a hug. :(
> 
> The lyrics featured in this chapter come from the song _Control_ by Halsey. I do not own them.
> 
> Little fun fact: Originally, chapter 4 was supposed to end right after Dean and Sam's dinner at Benny's restaurant, and everything else that came after it was actually from chapter 5, but I decided to merge those two together into a bigger chapter to make up for the long wait. And I actually think it worked out better this way. For some reason, I wasn't exactly happy with chapter 4 before I did that, and I have a feeling it was because there was no Cas in it. ;P But now I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out, and I hope you guys liked it too. ;)


End file.
